Endurance
by Himitsu-no-Paradise
Summary: Is this Ragnarok? No. Somehow, I fear it's much worse. Slight AU.
1. Prologue

An Avengers AU loosely based on the movie _Oblivion_. Hope you all enjoy. Disclaimer: I own neither Avengers nor Oblivion. This is just for fun.

* * *

Prologue

* * *

The world was different now. Vastly different. It seemed to quiver in its cold, dark desolation, shuddering in its emptiness, and clawing for the existence it once possessed—one of thriving vitality.

It's inhabitants had once lived in (relative) peace, quiet, calm, going from day to day living their individual lives, having their individual problems. Until after that day—the day in which they watched their heroes fall and saw their world crumble. It was only a matter of time though. The realms had once been separate. But that was a dream from the past. Once _he_ had gotten hold of the gems, and the gauntlet of power-to bend reality and everything else of worth to his will—he had changed _everything_.

_I will merge these realms_, he had said_, and give my lady a realm _worth _conquering._

_They_ had fought him, fought him with all they had. But the gems, and the gauntlet had given him more power than he could have anticipated. And they fell. They all fell.

They all fell. All but myself and my family. No.

No, that is incorrect. All but myself and my mother.

Even she had fallen. She, who had bewitched me. That cunning little spider who had ensnared my mind—my heart even—simply by outwitting me. A feat no one, mortal or immortal, had ever accomplished. She who had spoken on my brother's behalf to allow me a chance at redemption—a chance to make amends among those who I once meant to rule. A chance that I, at first, had no desire to take.

She who, unbeknownst to her, I had fallen so deeply in love with that I lashed out in anger at my brother for his dependence on a mortal love—a human love. Trying so desperately myself to escape the sameness of my own fate.

I did not see my brother again after that. I did not watch him, or the woman whom I loved fall under the power of the gauntlet. I did not see the friends which I had, reluctantly, made cave under the weight of such a desperate battle. I did not see him send my father into eternal sleep in order to secure the weapon which led to their end. I remember only being sent home by my brother in order to bring my mother to safety. I remember the eyes of our realm losing sight of the heroes of the Earth, and realizing they were gone—dead. My brother and the woman I loved.

I remember rushing for my mother, finding her sobbing over my father's body, where he had fallen defending the gauntlet. And then our land—our beautiful home—shuddered and shook, quaked and groaned with movement, ripping from its place in the cosmos, its branch broken from the Great Tree.

Then, all went dark.

When I awoke what could have been days, weeks, months later, the world was different. It seemed at first that perhaps his plan to merge the realms would work—the ultimate and perfect gift for his lady. The magics of other realms merged with the sciences of Earth caused technology to advance in leaps and bounds, and for a moment, those who were left after the merge lived in a cautious peace.

But perhaps the best gift for one to give Death is death itself. This new world shuddered with terrible growing pains, tore itself apart. Each of the separate realms which made up the wholeness of this new one fought for control. Blizzards, thunderstorms, quakes, monsters clawing their way out of the dark. The world was thrown into chaos, and desolation began. People began to die in droves. And he laughed from his place upon his throne, worshipping his glorious Death, begging for her tempestuous love.

It was then I took my stand. With what little my magic could do, I began to transport survivors to universes far from ours—places of safety and security.

When he learned that I lived—my mother and I both—and that I was taking those he would sacrifice to his sacred lady and sending them away, he hunted me. Drove myself, my mother and those who would fight by my side underground.

That was one-hundred years ago. This new world continues to spin in chaos, inhabited by very little that can call itself civil or just. Sentiment has abandoned us. All there is for us now is the fight. Still, I think of them by day—my brother and _her—_and by night, they haunt my dreams. Sometimes, reaching for the magic deep within, I feel as if they still live, far off, somewhere; happy.

I would hope if that were the case, they would stay there.

The world has nothing to offer them now.

* * *

"Love the Lord your God with all your heart." Deuteronomy 6:5

Review.


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Don't own.

* * *

Chapter 1

* * *

Faces.

_Green eyes. Black hair. A long, green cloak trimmed with gold._

Voices.

"_Do you think I wanted for your help? Do you think I needed it? You and my brother...so full of...sentiment."_

Even her own, speaking words she did not remember.

"_Love is for children."_

Blue eyes cracked open, allowing the gentle spilling of sunlight to flood their crystalline irises. A woman of curves and strength turned over, her body tense with the faces and voices in her dreams. The same faces and voices that haunted her every night. Men in armor and shields, with arrows, and skin full-green. These men haunted her mind at night. But the face that swam within her subconscious most frequently was the one she'd seen that night.

The man with green eyes and black hair.

The man who spoke so frequently of _sentiment_.

She heard his voice even now, as she stood from the stark white sheets of her bed, glancing around the square room with the cold metal walls. His voice, and her own.

"_You seem to be making friends here. Your brother is glad for that."_

"_Friendship? Hn. What a pointless sentiment."_

Massaging her head as it ached from the voices, she sighed. They were like caged animals, clawing at the cage of her brain, trying to break free from within her. Each new face, each loud voice, they screamed for release. Dizzy and unsure, she made her way to a small chamber built into the walls, a tube, with a plexiglass door that swiveled open. Stepping inside, she closed her eyes. In a moment, her sleep clothes were sucked from her body and a stream of water and soap washed over her lithe form. When the shower was finished, strands of blue light zipped over her body, knitting together a skin-tight white body suit made of a super reinforced kevlar-infused spandex onto her form. At the same time, the lights drew over her face, painting her eyes with charcoal black and lips in bright red, to match the shock of red curls that cascaded over her shoulders and down her back.

The chamber beeped and the lights dissipated when she was finished and she stepped out, the small-heeled boots of her suit clacking against the metal of the floor beneath her. Picking up a photon rifle from in the corner, she latched it into the straps on her back, before picking up the blaster pistol from her bedside table and flipping it into her thigh holster.

As she made her way toward the door of her lonely little containment area, she became dizzy all of a sudden, blacking out.

"_Natasha."_

_She watched him, carefully, as if she knew what he were going to say. Her eyes conveyed anxiety and excitement to him. She was caught in between insecurity and some kind of desperate need._

_Those green eyes were shielded by locks of inky black as the man bowed his head low. But she knew if she could see his eyes, there would be insecurity in them as well._

_Still, she see the determination in the set of his shoulders when he lifted his head, and the way he moved toward her. _

"_I..." he began, but paused when he saw the fight happening behind her blue irises. His brow furrowed. He looked like his old self again. Confused. Angry. Unsure as a child._

_And thus, it made sense what he was about to say. It was for children after all, and as much as the deepest reaches of herself wanted to accept it, the rest of her knew better. She was too hard to let go. She couldn't lose herself that way. Especially not to _him_._

_He watched her expression change as she fought within herself and so he smirked and bowed. "I just wished to offer my thanks...for your friendship." The words sounded semi-condescending but she knew he meant them all the same. It was just his way. Over-exaggerated and patronizing. _

_But, with a smirk of her own, she let unsure blue eyes meet green ones that were anything but, and she _knew_ it was genuine. Nodding, she replied, "I thought friendship was too sentimental."_

_The smirk twitched into a grin. "Ah, but I have decided that such a companion as yourself is worth my sentiment, how very little it may be. You are a...worthy opponent. You meet me tit for tat, as it were." He let a small orb of magic travel between his fingers like a coin. "After all, you were the only one who was ever able to get me to cooperate."_

_She couldn't help but smile. It was true."Well, thank you...for your cooperation."_

_He barked out a laugh, a sound like whimsical music, playful and festive. The kind of laugh a Trickster should have._

_When it had died back down into a playful grin, she stood and moved past him. She knew his eyes were on him and just before she left the room, she turned and murmured, "You're welcome, Loki."_

* * *

"Mother."

A head of beautiful blonde curls lifted, twisting on the long, regal neck of the woman sitting at the table made of raw, splintered wood. She closed the book in front of her and looked up at the man draped in the woolen cloak. He pushed the course brown material of the hood back, revealing the sharp lines of a pale face, skin smooth as cream, eyes as green as springtime, shoulder length hair as straight as a line, and as black as the inky night sky before the merge.

The woman's face flooded with relief and she smiled, warmly, standing. Long, motherly arms wound around the shoulders of the man, pulling him close—and down to accommodate their height difference. "Oh, Loki. You've returned." Shimmering tears coursed down her face.

It had been two whole weeks since Frigga had last seen her youngest child—her _only_ child (now). Since they—she and Loki and any other who had rallied to Loki's cause—had been forced underground by Thanos' rule and the aftermath of the realms being forced together, Loki and his best men went to the surface often to scout. To find food, water. To send small groups of refugees outside of the new and dangerous realm, as her son as done with so many others, essentially saving their lives from Thanos sacrificing them to his beloved Death. But sometimes, this meant Loki was gone for weeks at a time, and she never knew whether he was safe or if he'd been captured by Thanos.

And since Heimdall's Sight had all but disappeared the day the realms merged, she could not hope to keep eyes on her son—the only child, the only _family, _she had left.

"I'm alright, Mother," he murmured into her hair and then released her. "I was able to send many more of those hidden away from Thanos' gaze off-planet. They will be safe now, free from his rule. We were also able to gather more food and weaponry from the Chitauri. Idiotic creatures. To think, I ever tried to lead such a mindless band."

Frigga winced at the memory and Loki frowned, bowing his head low. "Forgive me, Mother. I know how you dislike to hear my past transgressions."

"It is true," she replied, "that I dislike reliving your uncertain past, but I am proud of the man you've become. You've taken on the lives or so many Midgardians, as well as those from Asgard, Jotunheim and any other realm which may still linger here. You've put their burdens on your shoulders, and sent them to the freedom they deserve. You have proven yourself a true son of Odin—and I believe if your father and brother were here...they would be very proud of you, as well."

Loki closed his eyes, his brow furrowing with sadness. Despite all his _alleged_ hatred toward Thor, and Odin, he had realized long ago that he had loved his father and brother, but more importantly, they had loved him. Until the end, Thor had fought for him, to prove to others that he was not such a hopeless case, and his father had been the one to suggest a chance at redemption—a chance to humble himself before Midgard.

They had been trying to _save_ him.

And he could not save them, in the end.

He opened his eyes finally, looking at his mother. "How is Father?"

Frigga smiled sadly. "The same as ever. He sleeps, Loki. It is doubtful he will ever waken." A stray tear trickled down her cheek. "You may go visit him. If he is in there, he will be glad to hear your voice."

Loki nodded, and pulled his mother in for one final hug. Turning, he looked at the meager surroundings which housed the rebellious masses rallied to his cause. It was a maze of pipes, scaffolds and assumed it was some sort of abandoned mine, or bomb shelter from Midgard that had survived the merge. Everything was brownish-red and rusted, ready to fall in on them at any moment, yet somehow it held, as if it too were fighting the fight against Thanos' totalitarian regime. Glancing back at his mother, he began to descend some stairs, into the deepest room of the shelter, where a door, locked by a bolt, and magicked to keep away unwanted guests, rested. He waved his hand to remove his spell and also to allow the bolt to pop open without the assistance of a key—he was the only one who could—before he opened the door and entered.

The door creaked under his weight and the corrosion of time, and inside the rusty brown room lay a long, glowing bed—which looked more like the coffin from Snow White, inlaid with gold and covered by a curving glass dome. Inside the dome lay Odin, buried deep (_eternally, _Loki thought, somberly) within the Odinsleep.

With silent footsteps across the dirty floor, Loki sat in the creaking metal chair set up next to the glowing coffin. He placed his hand on the glass, looked sadly down at the graying man, who seemed to sleep soundly, and murmured, "Hello, Father. It's been a long time."

Odin did not stir, did not react to his youngest's voice at all. He simply continued to slumber, trapped eternally in the malicious calm of sleep.

Loki's long fingers crooked against the glass, pressing tensely against the warm, transparent surface. "Open your eyes, Father. Please. Thor is gone, and I know I've disappointed you...made you angry, broke your trust. But when Heimdall lost sight of Thor...when I saw Mother draped over your lifeless body...none of it mattered. The lies, the deception on both our parts...I was—I _am—_your son. I only hope that I have conducted myself in present years...the way you or Thor would have in the same situation. Wake up, Father, and tell me so. Please. _Please_."

Odin lay still. He did not wake. Did not move at all.

Loki's brows arrowed down and he slammed his hands against the glass. "_Wake up_!" he growled, standing, the chair flying backwards against the weight of his sudden movement. Angry tears began to race down his face as he turned his head to glare at the coffin. "What gives you the right, old man, to abandon Mother like this? What gives you or Thor the right to leave in times such as these? Do you think yourselves better than us, that you have more right to rest when we fight so desperately? You never change, either of you! Both selfish, both _entitled_."

As the flames in his heart rose, the temperature of his skin dropped, and the color morphed, a deep blue tinge rising on every inch, the soft huff of breath from his mouth becoming visible in the lowness of its temperature.

His hands were fisted into balls, the deep, frosty magic of Jotunheim rising on his fingertips against his palms. He took deep, shaking, agitated breaths and advanced on the coffin, placing the cold magic of his hands on the glass. He watched as it frosted over, as the glowing light of Asgardian life which kept what remained of Odin's person alive began to fade under his cold touch. He watched his father's body began to turn pale, and then blue, the remaining life draining out of it.

His red eyes narrowed, pouring all of his anger, his frustration, his sadness into the magic which he siphoned into the glass.

Then:

"Loki!"

He stopped, pulling his hands away as he spun quickly on his heel to look at the owner of the voice.

His mother.

As soon as the contact was broken, life poured back into the coffin, and Loki looked at his mother, guilt, shame and insecurity painted in eyes that faded back to green, his blue skin shifting back to its pale, smooth color.

"Mother, I...I..."

Frigga approached him, and immediately wrapped her arms around him, pulling her son into her bosom, stroking his dark hair. "Loki. I understand. I know."

He cried. Angry, exasperated tears. And she held him, watching her husband sleep over his shoulder. She constantly tried to be strong for her son, but she felt it as well. Lonely. Abandoned. Tightening her grip on her crying son, and feeling the bittersweet nostalgia in the action, she repeated, "I know."

* * *

When the redheaded woman awoke from her blackout, she was in a large room—a familiar room—made entirely of metal. The walls were constructed of panels of a high density alloy, reinforced by plexisteel rivets, a recent development in metal, as hard and inpenetrable as steel with the flexibility of plexiglass. The floor was made of concetrated plexisteel, which made each footstep, each movement, echo clearly through the room as if enhanced tenfold by speakers. Around her were pillars of plexiglass, built up and hung down as regal decorations, mirroring a cave of menacing, aritificial stalagmites and stalactites. In the middle of the malicious plex-icicles, was a deep black plexisteel throne, encrusted with gems, replicas of the Infinity gems.

And seated upon that throne was her master: Thanos, in all his glory, wearing a black version of his usual jumpsuit and sharp shoulder-plate. The lines of his armor and suit were traced in white, and the colors offset against the deep purple of his skin and the glowing gold-and-color of the Infinity gauntlet which clung to his wide, square fingers like a leech to a blood supply.

"Good morning, Natalia," he spoke, his voice deep and rumbling. A frightening sound in the echoing plexisteel room.

Natalia stood, and bowed deeply to her master. "Good morning, sire," she replied.

"Is everything alright?" Thanos asked, but the sound of his voice denoted to her that he didn't really care. "My men found you on the floor just inside your room. Completely unconscious. Are you taking care of yourself, Natalia?"

Translation:_ are you keeping yourself in fighting shape—in _battle-ready_ shape?_

She knew he didn't particularly care for her well-being, or her at all. To be honest, there was no love lost between either of them. It was only because this world was all she had ever known—all she could remember—that she continued to live under his command. This was what she was good at—what her skills allowed her to do. In fact, she wondered where she'd even learned all that she knew. She didn't remember any sort of training in combat or weaponry. In fact, whenever she tried to remember, all she managed to call to memory was an image of herself, dancing, pushing her muscled legs up en point, moving slowly, calculatingly to the sounds of Swan Lake.

Yet, in her most tangible memories, she had never danced ballet in all of her existence.

Shaking those thoughts away internally, Natalia nodded. "Yes, sir. But I suppose doubling the patrols due to the increased frequency of the Radicals appearances has taken a bit of a toll on me, my lord. I'll take more precautions on my next assignments."

"See that you do," Thanos said and stood, looking up. Though the walls and floor were made of cold metal, the ceiling above was nonexistent, giving anyone in the room a view of the sky above, a swirling mass of dark blue, black and red, with clouds and stars that no longer resembled that of the Earth from 100 years prior.

Natalia watched as Thanos traced the patterns of the stars with his eyes. "We would not want to disappoint our Great Lady Death, after all. Would we?" He turned his gaze back onto her.

"Of course not, sire."

"This is her world, after all. We all work toward her greater purpose. Isn't that so?"

Natalia nodded.

"Good. So you will keep your doubled patrols up and make sure these...what did you call them? ...Radicals. Make sure they do not destroy the vision I have for my love, my Beautiful Death. Am I clear?"

"Of course, my lord," Natalia replied, placing her hand instinctively on her blaster pistol.

"Good." He turned from her, his hands crossed behind his back in a stand-offish fashion. "Then, you are dismissed."

"As you wish," she murmured, and gave a final bow before departing.

* * *

"Heimdall."

After collecting himself, Loki made his way deeper into the heart of the bare-bones domicile of his band of fighters. Finding the hard-muscled, dark-skinned Seer of his former home was his first priority. Since the day of the merge, Loki had learned that Heimdall, like himself, had retained his Asgardian power, but unfortunately for Heimdall, it had been jumbled—blurred by the merge.

Turning his thick neck to look at his prince, Heimdall gave a short nod, a small bow of respect. "Good to see you have returned safely. Your mother fretted."

"So, I suppose that means your Sight has not improved at all?"

Heimdall shook his head. Standing, he carried a few broken pipes to a shoot at the other end of the room—a shoot they had discovered led to a furnace. Whenever something fell apart, some rusting piece of their lair failed, they would reclassify these remnants as scrap for the furnace, to keep any tech they had available running to its fullest capacity.

Flexing strong muscles beneath a dingy muscle-shirt, Heimdall bent again with his knees to pick up more pipes, the pair of old, ripped cargo pants moving with the pliable tendons of his legs. He lifted more broken pipes and metal and dumped it into the furnace tunnel.

"I am sorry, my prince. All I see, still, are the blurred images of lives. So many lives thrown together against their will," he offered in reply, golden eyes focused on his work. Despite his affinity for watch-work, the life of their little colony thrived on everyone doing their part in shifts. He was good at being the Radicals watch, but today it was his duty to keep the furnace running. Everyday, everyone had a new job. Even Loki himself took these jobs onto his own shoulders when one of those under his care was sick, burned out or—gods forbid—killed in action.

Loki sighed, and massaged his forehead, where a headache had begun to form. He had not cried so much in what seemed like centuries and now his head pounded from the outburst he'd had in Odin's chamber. Swallowing, hard, to keep the memories from pulling the tears back up, he nodded. "I understand. What of this work? Is everything still operational?"

"As far as I can gather, my prince," Heimdall murmured as he put the last of the scrap for the day into the furnace. He dusted the rust and dirt from his hands and then focused his golden gaze on the young Asgardian prince, steadily. "Fandral asks for you upon your return, my prince. He has something to show you."

Loki nodded. "Very well." He placed a sympathetic hand on Heimdall's shoulder, and nodded, trying to convey a sense of hope for Heimdall's Sight, before he departed to meet with the only one of the Warriors Three who, to Loki's knowledge, had survived.

* * *

Natalia pressed the button on her earpiece when she heard the jumbled snark of the Chitauri language in her ear. They were asking her what she was seeing through her scope—what was causing the commotion up ahead. From her place behind a glacial ridge, she could scope out the culprits, pounding their large icy hammers against the ground, trying to break the ice under their feet.

"Jotuns," she replied into her comm. "At least four of them. They're at it again."

The Jotuns were not part of the Radicals. But neither did they obey Thanos' rules. They were unruly, and they were the only race of this world that did not follow the commands of their ruler. They were large, dangerous and unpredictable. Natalia hated them.

And yet, in her hatred, in the deepest place in her heart, she felt a stirring of sympathy whenever she saw one. As if, somewhere within her, she had experienced them in a way so different from what she saw in them now.

"_I am a Jotun. A descendent of darkness. Of cold. My heart is made of ice and thus, I cannot embrace _sentiment._" _

That voice again.

"_Then, my brother, why did you cry?"_

Natalia shook the unfamiliar voices from her head and aimed her rifle. As the Jotuns advanced, she closed one pretty blue eye, aiming with the other, pressing her eye-cavity hard to the scope. Adjusting the radius of the shot with a dial on the gun, she placed her hand underneath, sliding her finger into the trigger. "On my count," she said, quietly, into her comm. "One...two..."

ZIP. ZIP.

Two photons whizzed from the other end of the icy expanse and embedded themselves in the skulls of the giants. Two of the four blue creatures fell with a cracking thud to the ice, causing the web of cracks to begin crawling its away across the surface toward each end of the frozen area.

"I said _wait for my count_," Natalia hissed and then jumped up as those cracks spread and widened quickly toward her. She jumped up and tumbled away from a gap that suddenly shuddered open underneath where she had, seconds before, been planted, moving quickly from her tumble onto her feet and running with vigor across the ice, keeping her concentration on her balance so as not to slip.

On top of the ever growing web chasing her and her men, they had alerted the remaining Jotuns to their presence. Because of her shock of red hair, they spotted her first and one of them bounded toward her. Turning her head, her eyes widened at the long, ranging legs thump-thumping toward her, causing her to lose her concentration and slip with a thud to the ice. Because of the quickness of her forward motion during the run, when she landed, she continued to slide against the ice, giving her enough leverage to turn onto her stomach and point her rifle. With the quickness of an assassin, she squeezed the trigger, sinking a photon into the chasing monster's neck, and watching it fall with all the speed with which it had been chasing her.

However, she didn't calculate the large giant's contribution to the already cracking ice. The web spread more quickly, more gaps opening to swallow up the icy hills around them. Shuffling backwards with haste, she tried to avoid pace of the ever widening gaps but managed only to find herself falling through one, into the freezing water below.

Taking in a deep breath before she was completely submerged, she kept her mind on anything and everything warm and forced her chilled muscles to react, trying to push herself to the surface. But the pace was slow, due to the freezing temperature of the liquid, and she made barely any progress, as she felt the lovely warmth of air leaving her lungs. Just as she lost the last of her breath, she felt the large freezing grip of a hand grab her around her middle, and hoist her out of the water.

Suddenly, she was face to face with the last of the giants—a woman. The woman looked at her with angry, uncertain eyes. Eyes that seemed to ask _why_?

Natalia reached for the blaster pistol at her thigh and aimed it, just as the female giant spoke:

"You used to be one of them," she said, her voice a deep bellow with a sweet undertone—like the sound of large bell being rung.

Natalia's eyes widened and her pistol hand wavered, watching the giant's expression as she spoke.

"_We call ourselves the-"_

"_-Mightiest Heroes."_

Something short circuited in her brain, and she gasped at the painful memories which ripped through her skull and caused her ears to ring. Then, the voices began to fade again.

When she awoke from the painful visions, it was only moments before the giant, finally bored of this tryst, decided she was finished with her. With a flick of her wrist, she flung Natalia against the wall of a large, frozen hillside, watching her tumble onto what was left of unbroken ice.

Natalia lifted her head, fuzzy from the impact and watched the blurred image of the Jotun disappear from view as it bolted from the scene in a heavy, thudding run. Finally, giving into the throbbing knot on her head, she let herself fall into unconsciousness.

* * *

Fandral mopped sweat from his brow as he pushed the an energy-driver into a broken rivet on a pair of stealth goggles. Twisting the dial at the top of the hilt, the long slim tube of light which emitted from it buzzed and pushed more energy out, melting the rivet securely to the goggles and causing them to hum to life. He smirked and nodded, before setting the goggles down and switching the laser-powered energy-driver off and set it down among the other tools. Looking up, he let his eyes wander over the little workshop, where a mix of humans, dwarves and a small handful of Asgardians worked tirelessly at building and fixing weaponry and tech.

Fandral had never really been the building type. Back when things were peaceful, and safe, if he were given the choice, he could be found lounging leisurely in the palace of Asgard, drinking, flirting and, if necessary, fighting. So, he supposed it could be said, that he would have much rather fought with weapons instead of building them.

But when Thor fell...when Sif, Volstagg and Hogun vanished, presumed dead...

...well, his priorities changed.

Not overnight, of course. For years, he wandered, keeping his head down, keeping out of Thanos' gaze. And he did a good job of it for about fifty years. Then, one night, while he was out hunting for what he was hoping would be that week's worth of rations, the Chitauri caught up with him. They attacked him without remorse, without mercy. They left him for dead out in a forest filled with Bilgesnipe and where deadly lightning struck, perpetually.

He knew he was going to die. The snipes had smelled his blood. And he could smell _them_. Smell their breath, hot with blood, saliva dripping from sharp fangs onto his open, festering wounds. He knew they were going to finish the job the Chitauri had started. He knew they were going to eat him. He knew.

Or so he thought. Just as the snipes were about to tear into his flesh, he heard the whiz of a spear flying by, piercing the first snipe, sending him tumbling into a tree, dead. In the blur of his half-dead state, he saw a swirl of brown, green and black move from the thicket of trees. He heard the sound of metal tearing flesh as the new figure slashed at the remaining animals with a spear, killing each one by one, in a flash of speed and training.

It wasn't until later, when he'd woken from a week of unconsciousness, that he found out his savior had been Loki.

After that, any biases he had had toward Loki in their past were diminished, and he was loyal to his prince—the only living prince of Asgard left—from that day on.

"Fandral." Loki's voice rang through the workshop. Fandral grinned and jumped up, slapping a hand against Loki's shoulder in a brotherly manner.

"Loki! You've returned. Good to see you are well, my friend."

Loki gave him a tentative smile in return. Even after fifty years of camaraderie, it was odd to think of Fandral treating him in much the same manner that he once treated Thor. Perhaps it was a type of survivor's guilt—perhaps he did not feel he deserved Fandral's friendship when he had done so much wrong and Thor had not lived to have it himself.

"Heimdall said you requested my presence upon my return."

"Yes!" Fandral replied, grinning. "While you were away, we began tinkering with a few new things. I wanted to show you our progress."

Fandral led Loki deeper into the workshop, making his way to one of the worktables and picking up a rifle. "We salvaged a few of Thanos' photon rifles from the Chitauri and made some modifications. We enhanced the heat vision in the scope so it will spot beings with much cooler body temperatures. We also extended the range of the scopes, so if a cold-blooded creature like a Chitauri cross the path of the scope at a long-distance range, we will be able to dispatch them, immediately."

Loki nodded, and then raised an eyebrow at him as if to say _show me more._

Fandral led him to the next work station and picked up a few cylindrical canisters. "These are laser-energized grenades. They can be programmed to target any potential threat that the user wishes. The downside to that is if they fall into the hands of the enemy, they could be used against us."

"Fandral."

"Don't fret, my friend," he replied. "I have built in a failsafe. It's made out of the plexisteel of a few of the salvaged photon rifles that were beyond repair for use. Because of the technology built into the rifles, the plexisteel utilized to build them is made to read only the genetic code of the one who wields it—in essence, the weapon is monogamous from the time it is picked up until it is destroyed. Using that information, a few of our more skilled dwarven craftsmen were able to wipe clean the plexisteel's initial genetic match, but managed to retain the technology."

"Meaning?"

"The grenades will only work for the person who's genetic make-up it initially touches," Fandral. "And the way it works is," He turned it over, "this button here reads the genetic code of the owner, and once the correct genetics press the button, they have six seconds to discharge the grenade. When the six seconds are over, the grenade will dispel an explosion of photon lasers which will slice through whatever its intended target was in a matter of seconds."

He was grinning, and Loki chuckled. "Ever since you learned what all of this technological drivel meant, I cannot seem to get you to shut up about it. It's quite impressive, Fandral."

"Ha! You haven't even seen the best of it yet, my friend! Come! Over here," he said and led him to his own work station. With a sweep of his hand, he lifted a long, bladed weapon from the table. "I have been working on this especially for you, Loki."

It was a spear. A magnificent spear with a shaft made of a plexisteel, and a blade made of a metal that was unfamiliar. Carved into it were a few of Asgard's sacred runes—and some of Jotunheim as well. He could only assume they were so he could utilize his magic through the spear. Plucking it, gently, from Fandral's fingers, he saw the runes light up a bright blue immediately as his magic coursed through it. He felt it's power, and it was wondrous.

"It's magnificent, Fandral," Loki whispered.

"Thank you. The shaft is made of plexisteel so it's durable yet has the flexibility that your agile movements will require. And the blade...the blade is made of something very rare. I knew as soon as it was dropped on my station that it must be used for a weapon fit for our leader."

Loki looked at him. "What is it?"

"Adamantium. A Midgardian metal, and one of the only elements that has withstood Mjolnir's strike."

"Fascinating," Loki said, lifting the spear, watching as the blade gleamed under the dim light of the workshop. "A Midgardian metal, you say? Why is so rare now?"

"One hears talk when keeping themselves scarce for fifty years, my friend," Fandral said. "Midgardians used up much of the adamantium which their realm provided to them. What was left was safeguarded by some sort of school in the northern area of the state in which the Stark Tower was located."

"New York?" Loki asked, looking surprised.

"Yes, but that was before the merge. No one is sure what happened to the school or its inhabitants afterward...and the adamantium vanished. So I knew when it was brought to me, I had to put it to the best use possible."

Loki's brow furrowed and he turned grateful eyes on Fandral. "Thank you, my friend."

Fandral smiled a little. "You're welcome, Loki. I am just...I am doing what Thor would have wanted. He would have wanted you to...to have someone who cares for you. Besides your mother. And someone who would...who would protect you."

He paused, blushing, embarrassment rising on his face. "And you rescued me, Loki. I was cruel to you on Asgard after your betrayal...even when Thor brought you to Midgard for your redemption...and yet, still, you saved me. You have earned my trust...my friendship...and my loyalty."

Loki placed his hand on Fandral's shoulder, but much more softly than the blonde man had done earlier. "Think nothing of that, my friend. I was only doing what Thor would have wanted as well. You were one of his greatest companions. I could not simply let you die. I want not your loyalty and friendship as payment for a debt...but as someone who deserves it. I can only...I can only ask for that, as someone who once upon a time did not."

"You deserve it, Loki. You've done much for these people. And I give it not as payment, but as something you have earned, wholeheartedly. You are my friend and brother as much as Thor ever was."

Loki nodded. "Well, the sentiment is much appreciated. And the weaponry is marvelous. Thank you, my friend, for your hard work." He holstered the spear between the rungs on the back which were sewn into his cloak. "I will cherish this spear...as a gift from a fellow fighter...a brother...and a friend."

With that, he gave Fandral a small bow and departed.

* * *

"_Natasha." _It was his voice. The green-eyed one. She could never see his face clearly in her visions

_Natasha? Why do you keep calling me Natasha? My name is Natalia. And who are you?_

"_Have you forgotten us already, Nat? Come on."_

This voice was different. One of the many she heard at night sometimes.

"_Yeah, c'mon, Widow's Peak. Don'tcha miss me? Sure you do. Everyone does." _She could practically hear the grin in this voice.

"_We are with you always, Natasha."_

_I am not Natasha! My name is-_

"_Natasha. Think. Think about who you are. The world has changed before your eyes...and I know how hard that can be."_

_I'm going crazy. There are voices in my head. Voices that don't even know my _name_._

"_Natasha...remember who you are. Don't let yourself be a monster."_

Natalia gasped, her body jerking into a sitting position, her chest heaving with the breaths she swallowed in, tears streaking down her face in quick, salty trails. Who were they? She could not see their faces, only hear their voices, and whenever the faces came to her, they were a picture of blurred lines and shapes. What couldn't she remember? What wasn't Thanos' telling her?

Who was _Natasha_?

Looking around, she realized she was in her room, in her bed, and she closed her eyes. Why did this keep happening? Night after night...the visions...the voices...

Who _was_ she?

_I am Natalia. I am the Assassin General of Thanos' ranks. I am a lioness on the hunt, a leopard in the bush, ready to strike. I am a-_

Zzzz. Something short-circuited inside her head. Something powerful.

"_Bl-"_

"_Bl-"_

"_Black-"_

Zzz. Zzz. She gasped, her head snapping back, eyes rolling into her head. Zz.

"_-Wid-"_

"_-Wid-Wid-"_

"_No_!" she cried, pulling herself together, tumbling out of her bed, onto the floor and gulping in air, slapping her hand against the metal paneling of the surrounding walls, sliding into a standing position and moving toward the sink-and-mirror in the corner of the room. She looked at herself in the mirror, her red hair disheveled, tangled, and frizzy. Her make-up was streaked, the black eyeliner smeared, the red lipstick gone. She was a mess—both inside and out.

Crying out, she spun, her heel connecting with the mirror, shattering it to pieces. When she turned her angry eyes, full of confusion, back to it, only a single shard, reflecting one desperate blue eye, remained hanging.

_Who am I? _

And for once, the voices were silent.

* * *

"The Spirit Himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God." Romans 8:16

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	3. Chapter 2

Has anyone seen the new Thor: The Dark World trailer? If not, you should.

Disclaimer: Belongs to Disney and Marvel

* * *

Chapter 2

Frigga was a strong woman. In the Norse mythos, she was classified as the goddess of marriage and motherhood, and to some, that may seem the weakest of roles for a woman—especially in a modern world where women had such agency.

But it was the most difficult and strenuous job of all—being wife and mother.

Especially when she watched her husband deteriorate within the confines of an eternal slumber. Especially when her eldest son found his alleged death at the hands of a war mongering alien force.

Especially when she witnessed her youngest being crushed under the weight of a slowly dying world, watched him crumbling from the inside out, and worried every moment for his safety whenever he was gone from her.

Even now, she watched as he leaned heavily against his own hand, his long, smooth fingers massaging his forehead, a forehead creased with worry lines as he furrowed his brow. She watched as he sipped Midgardian ale out of an old, dirty mason jar, his green eyes watching the brown liquid slosh back down to the bottom of the glass.

She closed her eyes, wearily, as if she could feel the heavy weight that she knew her son carried. She could practically feel how tired his body was—how close to broken his spirit had become. For a century they had warded off Thanos' rule, kept him from spreading his evil any farther than necessary, yet she knew he felt defeated in the reality that Thanos' still held power and the people—the civilians of this new realm—still suffered his mercilessness or fled underground.

Yet, even in his despair, she felt pride at how very much like his father and brother he had become. She could remember just a short while ago—in terms of an Asgardian life—how cruel Loki wished to be. How much he wanted to hate the world around him for the lies it had told. How he had taken so much of his childish rage out on the innocence of Yggdrisil's branches.

But she was not foolish, nor did she let Heimdall's sight at the time of Loki's redemption go to waste. She had seen how Thor's belief in him was slowly allowing Loki to trust their family again. But more than that, she had seen how the Midgardian woman, the Avenger's assassin, had taken hold of his heart.

It was her friendship above all which had changed her son. That, Frigga believed with all that she was.

And she could see in Loki how he wished not to let those who had believed in him down. To uphold the ideals of justice, and the rights of redemption which Thor and that woman had instilled so strongly in him.

With the softness of a sad sigh, she moved toward the man sitting at the table she was, just hours before, sitting at, reading a book nervously, hoping desperately for his return. She reached out, letting motherly fingers rove through his hair, long and mussed.

"Your hair is getting long, my dear," she murmured, and Loki looked up at her, a little startled, before he put the jar he held down, guiltily. He knew she did not like when he drank, fearing he would drink in excess to drown his troubles, like so many Midgardians—and Asgardians—before him had.

Sometimes, he wished he could. But the composition of his Jotun blood made it more difficult for alcohol to effect him than it might for one of Asgard or Earth. Still, he cleared his throat and pushed the jar across the table, gently, offering his mother a half-hearted smile. "I have not thought to have it dealt with of late, Mother. Forgive me if it displeases you."

"No, my son," she replied, sitting in a chair next to him, placing her loving fingers on his jittery knee. "It suits you in a time such as this. This is not a time of royalty and regality, but of justice and freedom-fighting. But here..."

From her own golden locks, she pulled a beautiful linen hair-tie, laced within with the strongest of Asgardian rubber, and inlaid with twisting strips of real gold. Atop it's beautiful tie was a small ivory carving of the crest of the house of Odin. "Your father gave this to me when he brought you from Jotunheim."

"I do not understand," he queried, raising an eyebrow at her.

"It was your father's custom that whenever I became a new mother, he would give me a gift, as a sign of his gratitude to me for granting him a child," she replied. "When Thor was born, he gave me a ring made of the same material as Mjolnir."

Loki gave a dry chuckle. "You did not birth me, Mother."

"Yes, but you were our son, nonetheless, and when I agreed to care for you as my own, your father was pleased to know I would do so. And so he had this made for me. Take it. It is as much yours as mine, Loki."

Loki looked at her, his face a mask of uncertain emotions. Then, he turned his eyes to the hair-tie and images of his father's face, alive and full of strength flashed in his mind. He had thought of him as so much a son that he had offered a gift of gratitude to Frigga for him. Even though she had not birthed him. He had been _grateful_ to have Loki as a son.

He reached out to take it, when the weight of those words sunk in, and guilt blossomed in his chest. He jumped up, quickly, then, knocking the chair over and jostling the table enough to cause the jar sitting atop it to tumble and fall over, spilling precious brown liquid all over the raw wooden surface.

"I cannot accept it, Mother," he mumbled in reply, running a hand through his long, unruly black mass. "I am not worthy of such a gift as this."

"Why do you say these things?" Frigga asked, standing gently, fingering the precious gift, softly. "It was given to me because of _you_, my son."

"_Exactly_," he snapped in return, turning blazing green eyes on her. "He thought of me always, _always_ as his son and I spat in his face. Spat in the face of the realms he and Thor swore to protect. I hated myself, and him, and the realm from which I was spawned. I hated the realm Thor loved because he was the beloved son. And here...here you try to give me this gift..."

His shoulders slumped, defeat evident on his sharp features. "...that represents just how beloved I was to the both of you...when all I did was throw your love to a mass of proverbial Bilgesnipe...when Father and Thor are all but gone from us...how can I accept such a thing?"

He let his form lean heavily against the wall behind him, feeling the cold of the dirty, molding concrete press against his back through his the dingy olive-green tunic he wore. His head lulled back, and he stared up at the maze of stairways and pipes that hung above his head, before he closed his eyes, willing the images of the Cask of Eternal Winters, of Thor trying to save him from the Bifrost's fall, of Manhattan _burning_ at the hands of the Chitauri, to remain at bay, as they tried to pour the guilt of their memories over his already weary, war-worn form.

Frigga moved toward him and, carefully, softly, with all the love of a mother's touch, pressed the band into his palm, before planting a gentle kiss on his cheek. "You have done so much more to make amends since then, my son," she whispered. "And your father would be proud for you to have this."

Before he could argue, she turned on her heel and left—left him staring after her, a fight between his past memories and her present words evident behind his eyes, the band clutched tightly in his white-knuckled fist.

* * *

"My liege."

Thanos turned glinting red orbs to find the voice's owner, casting his gaze on the hooded figure of the Other. He sniffed, indignantly, and turned his face from the grotesque gnarled alien form. "What is it? Can you not see that I am spending time with my Lady Death?"

Just a few feet from the large, hulking purple form of Thanos was a life-sized plexisteel statue of Death, her metal frame gleaming as if in response to Thanos' loyalty. He smirked and bowed deeply to the shining surface of the statue and then turned to the Other. "Make it quick."

"It is the woman, my liege," the Other murmured.

"What about her?" Thanos asked, sneering.

"Our technicians noticed some irregular brainwave patterns emanating from her during sleep," the Other replied, keeping his head down, unworthy to look his emperor and the great goddess directly in the eye. "They are concerned."

"Hn," Thanos scoffed. "She is a pawn. A tool that we kept alive because she helps us accomplish and retain our goals. Whatever her brain is doing during sleep is of no concern to me. Now, if you are done bringing your unnecessary concerns to me-"

"But, my lord, they fear she might-"

"-then I will return to my Lady's side and we will speak no more of this."

"But, my liege-"

"I said, _we are done_."

The Other bowed low, his head jerking into a tensely reverent position, placing a pale, wrinkled, six-fingered hand to his heart. "O...of course, sire. Of course." He turned to depart.

"Wait." Thanos' voice was hard—demanding.

The Other paused and turned, his shrouded face bowed low in submission. "Yes, my lord?"

Thanos' head swiveled on his thick neck, the profile of his large, purple countenance facing toward his underling. "Has the bounty been issued?"

A snarling grin curled onto the Other's face, previewing ugly, blood-stained teeth. "Yes, my liege."

A smirk painted Thanos' profile. "Good."

With that, Thanos disconnected all attention from him and turned back to Death's statue, as the Other hissed inwardly and made his way down a set of long, swirling, crystalline stairs and out of Death's chamber.

* * *

The smell was sickening—it wafted into his nose and choked the breath out of his lungs. He was sure it was worse for his traveling companion, whose senses hadn't been dulled by centuries of life yet.

As they made their way over the dry, cracking ground, burned and cooked by the ever flowing magma just miles under their feet, he glanced up at the sky, pulling the long, black cloak he wore tighter around his bulky form. He knew the smell was due to the sulfur clouds above their head, their existence dark and perpetual. Suddenly, he heard a rumbling in the distance and he looked at the smaller form walking next to him.

"Hear that?" he asked.

The smaller, cloaked figure was silent, but a single, gleaming eye could be seen looking at him from beneath the dark hood. A young woman's eye. She nodded, carefully.

"Keep your ears open if you hear it again, closer, because-"

The rumbling increased in the distance and suddenly, the ground was forced open by a geyser of hot magma bursting from beneath it, ripping it at it's cracking, dried seams and pouring lava over the blackened branches of long-dead trees and the ground around them.

They both turned, startled, and saw the geyser rising out of the hardened dirt, and then the man let out a hard snuff of breath. "-of that."

They continued to trek cautiously across the glowing, blackened desert, their heels clacking against the ground, the mountain ranges rising up around them rumbling with the power of the magma beneath their peaks, as well. The area was a like an angry powder keg, ready to explode at any moment.

He had to find the tavern quickly. Honestly, he didn't understand why anyone would build a bar in the middle of hell itself, but he needed to find it. He really needed a beer.

And he'd heard that he could make a quick buck there. It was a bounty-hunter tavern—or so he'd been told—and that he could make a lot of money in a little bit of time. Which is what he needed. It was getting harder to eat, and trade, with what little he and his companion had left. And he couldn't let her starve.

He couldn't.

Sure, he could hunt. They both could. And maybe they would survive for a little while. But game was getting scarce and in this area, there _were_ no animals brave enough to face the geysers. But it wasn't just about the food. Their cloaks were getting shabby. Their shoes were worn through at the soles. They needed supplies—clothes, tools, weapons if necessary. They needed _money_.

While he was lost in thought, the rumbling began again. Closer. Too close for comfort.

The woman was the only one who heard it, and she turned to look at her partner. He didn't seem to notice, completely engrossed in his musings. She glanced behind them. She could see the ground blistering where the magma began to move to the surface. Her eyes widened and she turned to her companion again. Still no response.

The rumbling increased, growing louder and suddenly, in an instantly, the geyser exploded from the ground, and began to pour smoldering liquid all over the ground. The force of it spilled across the cracking desert landscape and began to flow toward them with the speed of an angry tidal wave.

"James!" the woman finally cried, and the man was broken from his thoughts, looking at her in surprise. She rarely spoke, and rarely in such an exasperated tone. He heard it then, the sound of the fierce flow of lava, embers and ash and he turned to see it rushing toward them.

Turning frantic, animalistic eyes on the young woman, he growled, "_Run_!"

With that, they broke into a run, bounding across the landscape like hulking tigers outrunning a group of ferocious hunters. Black crags created by previous eruptions, like tiny, sharp mountains, stuck out of the ground, and as the lava rushed toward them, they bobbed and weaved around them, using their hands to push themselves over them when necessary, like a malicious game of leap frog.

That's when he saw it. In the distance, sitting up high on a mountain ridge, out of the way of the deadly heat of the magma flow, was the tavern.

"There!" he said, and with all the energy left in him, he pushing himself forward, impressed to find the woman matched him footstep for bounding footstep. Then, with one finally push of strained leg-muscles, he leaped onto the side of the ridge, utilizing the only tools he had left to secure himself to the mountainside. When he was sure he was secure, he glanced around and let a long sigh of relief when he found the woman had been able to do the same.

The lava sloshed against the bottom of the mountainside, just barely missing their feet as it nipped at the blackened rock-face. Swallowing hard, the man began to climb, pulling himself up until he reached the ridge. Tumbling onto the flat surface, he took a few gulping breaths and when the girl joined him on the ridge, he looked at her and mumbled, "Let's never do that again."

* * *

The tavern was a dark and smelled of sulfur and alcohol. Patrons had a hard time seeing one another across the small, circular wooden tables, but it didn't matter, because most were so drunk, they wouldn't have noticed if someone was sitting across from them in the first place. Most of them came to drown the sorrows of this broken world in ale and absinthe. Even after a century of living like this, some just couldn't adjust to the kind of life that Thanos' world had created for them.

The tavern's owner knew this better than anyone. He had worked directly under Thanos for decades before his memories had returned. When that had happened, and without a single shred of hesitation, he had escaped Thanos' malicious grasp. But at a price. For a while, he had evaded being roped back into Thanos' regime, but...

But he hadn't been able to run forever. Thanos' Chitauri had caught up to him. _Thanos_ had caught up to him. But he had fought back, refusing to return to a life of false memories and robotic non-agency. He fought so hard that he threatened the end of his own life before he'd let Thanos take him again

Perhaps, he had been too large an asset to Thanos. Or perhaps Thanos just liked toying with people. He assumed the latter. And so, Thanos had allowed him to keep his new life—his tavern, his freedom. With a horrible ultimatum.

A woman. A woman he loved was still tightly grasped in the fist of Thanos' regime, and if there was one thing he valued more than his own life, was this woman's.

So, Thanos had given him a choice. Allow him to utilize the tavern, from time to time, for his purposes, or watch this woman fall into a despair worse than himself had ever faced. And so...

Glancing up from the bartop, he let red-on-black eyes fall on the bulletin board posted at the other end of the room. Among it were all the bounties that Thanos' "men" had out on the rebellious factions that sometimes cropped up around the realm. Before Thanos had found him, this bar had been a refuge for the retaliators. But now, it was a den of malignant bounties—dirty, evil and totalitarian.

But, he knew if he tried to fight it, Thanos' would destroy her. Or worse, turn her into something she wasn't. Something far worse than what she'd herself had ever feared.

And so, he allowed Thanos' sects to drink here. Eat here. And post bounty. And when they didn't, he was careful who he let in and out of the tavern for fear of what Thanos might catch wind of. Most of his patrons were just world-worn workers, or old drunks who had never learned how to conduct themselves in this new place. A few were bounty hunters who came frequently—people who were okay with ruining the lives of others for Thanos if it meant getting and keeping what they thought they deserved.

And then there were the demons.

As he turned his eyes back to the bar, mopping at its glassy surface with a grungy towel, he frowned. He had thought building the tavern in such a remote and dangerous area of the world would keep Thanos' numbers away. But evil begot evil, and this fiery place had just seemed to draw him here. On top of that, the area belonged to demonic creatures—they called themselves the children of Surtur. Most, who graced his humble bar, would drink, cause a little ruckus and then leave with little harm done. But he was wary of them. He knew this Surtur was not an ally of Thanos _or_ the rebellion. He was a lone faction, and that made him dangerous. His fear was that the demons would cross paths with the Chitauri or one of Thanos' generals posting a bounty, and destroy all that was important to him—directly and indirectly—in the process.

The bell above the door rang.

He looked up from the bar again, long, shaggy brown hair masking the top half of his face a little. His eyes narrowed at the hooded figures, his senses unnerved by their suspicious attire and the stand-offish way they seemed to carry themselves as they moved through the bar.

Turning, he placed his towel down near a rusted old sink as the two figures sat, quietly, at the bar.

Picking up an old fedora from the other end of the bar, the barkeep placed it on his head, shrouding his identity more fully from the eyes of these strangers, unsure how dangerous they would be to his livelihood or his precious cause.

"Wha' can I get f'ya?" he asked, his words dripping with a thick accent—familiar to the hooded man.

"Beer."

He himself found the other man's voice just as aggravatingly familiar and he narrowed his eyes further, peeking out from under the hat's rim to try and get a glimpse of the stranger's shrouded face. However, with no luck, he simply nodded and turned, pulling a beer bottle from a shelf nearby. The bottle let out a soft "cht" as he popped the cap off and poured the stale, golden liquid into beermug.

He placed the mug in front of him. "And f'ya?"

"She doesn't talk much. And she's fine."

"Ah. 'f y'insist." He paused, watching the man take long swigs of his beer before he smirked a little. "Wha' brings ya to dese parts, monsieur."

The man's neck twitched a little under the cloak, where his head snapped up a little. Something seemed oddly familiar about that terminology. Something that unsettled the stranger. But he shook it off with a soft growl and replied, "We need money. We heard you got bounties posted."

The barkeep's expression darkened. "Don' know whatcha goin' on 'bout."

The next thing that happened was too quick for him to react to immediately. He heard a "chkt"—a sound so familiar it almost made him sick—and then saw the gleaming blade of a knife protruding from the silent woman's cloak. He could see blue eyes gleaming there, glowing like a cat's, though the rest of her face was shadowed.

"Whoa, whoa, take it easy dere, cher," the man grumbled, holding up his hands to her, his head tilted back to avoid the blade at his throat.

The word caused a snapping spark to explode in the hooded man's mind, and he looked up, suddenly, from his beer at the man's eyes, now exposed due to the position of his head. Red-on-black. Standing, he pushed the woman's arm away, releasing the hostile tension of the situation.

There was a rumbling chuckle—a dry, bitter sound. Then the shrouded figure grumbled:

"Well, well, well. If it ain't Remy LeBeau."

* * *

"For You are my lamp, O Lord. The Lord shall enlighten my darkness." 2 Samuel 22:29

Please review.


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Not mine. Not even a little.

* * *

Chapter 3

* * *

"Well, well, well. If it ain't Remy LeBeau."

There was a moment of unadulterated shock—like a lightning strike that shot right through him. Like the feeling of someone pouring cold water over him from behind. Like finding out someone he loved was dead.

Shock, that someone in this world, a hundred years later, would know him. _Could_ know him. Letting his head fall back into it's normal position, he removed his fedora and let his red-irised eyes study the figures in the hoods. Still, he could not get a read on them and so he narrowed his eyes and leaned in closer, mumbling, "Who are ya?"

The man inside the hood knocked back the rest of his beer and slammed it down on the bar top before stepping away from the long, glassy surface and moving toward the board on the other side of the room. With careful consideration, he studied the bounties posted, before pulling one down off of the board. With intentional strides, he made his way back to the bar and handed the paper to his companion, who studied it. She seemed unsure, but gave a curt nod and handed it back to him.

The man laid the paper out in front of Remy. "Where can I find him?"

Remy let his eyes fall to the bounty. Written across the paper, in a rough, scratchy handwriting were the words:

BOUNTY: LOKI LAUFEYSON

12 MILLION THANDERIANS.

DEAD OR ALIVE. PREFER ALIVE.

Remy's eyes widened. This bounty had just been posted today. One of Thanos' top generals—a woman, an assassin who had always seemed familiar but in a distant sort of way to Remy—had brought it. There was no picture, but he had noticed that she was more intrigued with the bounty than any of his other generals had ever been.

And, of course, he knew who Loki was. One hundred years ago, he'd heard the name in passing. God of mischief. Troublemaker. Villain. But now, the whispered musings of a broken world told of a different Loki. A heroic Loki. One that fought against Thanos' masses and sent civilians off-realm to who-knows-where, where there was tell that they would receive a better life—a better chance.

It almost made him sick to think such a man—or god—as this was being hunted. It made him even sicker to think he had been the one forced to post it. And of course, he'd heard rumors of where Loki and his meager numbers might be hiding. But they were only rumors—idle talk. He wasn't sure how reliable the words were. Still...

"I can give ya a gene'al idea," he replied. "But only if ya answer a question f'me. Who are ya? How ya know who I'm?"

"That ain't none of your business, bub. I just wanna know where to find Mr. Mischief."

_Bub._ The lightbulb switched on inside his head so fast, that Remy nearly barked the man's name out there, right there in the middle of the mumbling masses, not all of whom were trustworthy. Reaching out without fear, he pushed the hood back, his eyes widening in surprise, yet filling with the light of confirmation as the man beneath was revealed to him.

"It's ya...Logan."

* * *

Deep within the icy realm of the Jotuns was a series of tunnels—caves that branched through the frozen mountains of what once was Jotunheim. Each cave twisted around inside the icy mountain ranges, until meeting each other in the middle, connecting to a deep, high cavern, big enough to house the majority of their race. In this cavern lived the remainder of the Jotun royal family—the remnant of Laufey's house.

This included Yngvild, the last of Laufey's wives—the biggest of them, the strongest...the one Jotunheim had called "queen"—and her children. Her youngest, Lognir, was the current captain of the guard. He was built like a skyscraper, tall, and muscled—sturdy. He was responsible for the protection of the caves, rallying Jotuns against anyone who may threaten what was left of his race. He also led small rebel bands of Frost Giants against Thanos' regime whenever necessary, and sent out scouts to create chaos for Thanos whenever possible. With skin the color of a bright blue sky and born with the marks of a warrior, he carried the Jotun race through the difficulty of this new world with sword and strength, assuring their movement was safeguarded whenever they slunk through the caves.

Her middle child, a Jotun female named Lyrn, was a Jotun of the highest calibur. Only about a head smaller than her younger brother, she wore her own royal blue coloring with just the regality the color suggested. Her markings were a mess of sloping, swirling lines and circles, which indicated her place as princess and prophetess. On top of her inherent abilities, she was also a fierce warrior, a master of the tonfa and quite skilled at hand-to-hand combat.

And then, there was Ljot. Ljot was Yngvild's oldest child—the first son of Laufey born to Yngvild—and the largest of the Jotuns left alive. He was two heads taller than his brother and at least half a kilo heavier. His skin was the icy blue of frost under the gleam of sunlight, his markings a twisting, swirling web. A web which marked him as _heir _to Laufey's throne. And so he was. When Laufey had fallen by Asgard's hands, Ljot, being only a few hundred years old, took up the helm of his father's rule and led Jotunheim back to its glorious former pride.

And now, among his brother, sister, and the queen mother, he reigned as king, wielding the great long-spear his father once had, his red eyes gleaming with the brightness of royalty.

Lognir took a knee at the feet of his brother, who sat regally on a throne of ice, carved within the mountainside cavern by a pair of Jotun carpenters—brothers, and the only ones left of their family since the merge.

"You've come to report?" Ljot asked, his head was turned toward his spear, with its four sharpened blades, each sitting opposite the other in a cube-like shape.

"I have not, brother, but Lyrn has returned and she has something to relay to you," Lognir replied, and then turned, holding a long, sharp-fingered hand out to the female Frost Giant who approached.

Yngvild watched the scene unfold, seated on her own throne a few feet from her eldest child, her own red eyes full of condescension. She cared little personal well-being of her children, but much for how they upheld the values of Laufey himself. With a small shift, she lowered her head so the light could hit her fair, Jotun features more fully as she witnessed the moment between her offspring.

Lyrn approached and bowed before her brother. Her tonfa were strapped securely against her back, and her red eyes gleamed without pupils, as was the norm for Jotun prophets and prophetesses. She lowered her head in reverence and murmured, "Brother...sire...a small group of us traveled to the eastern most sector of our lands, where the Flat-ice spreads for miles. We had learned mere weeks ago that Thanos plans to mine the Flat-ice for purposes unknown...so we were deployed to destroy the Flat-ice plains as much as possible...but..."

She looked up into her brother's eyes. "He knew we were coming. We were ambushed by his Chitauri. Two of our own were taken down, right there before my eyes. I myself would have been, but..."

Ljot pursed his lips, red eyes narrowing thinly.

"One of Thanos' generals was clumsy on the ice, and thus I was not felled by her attempted strikes. They also caused the Flat-ice's destruction when they allowed our kind to fall, heavily, against the ice. They were imbecilic...stupid...they finished what we had started..."

"_Get on with it._" Ljot knew there was more to this than simply her informing him that she was alive. He could obviously see that.

"Brother, the woman..." Lyrn murmured. "...she was one of the Avengers of old."

Ljot looked startled, all of a sudden—an expression that didn't often grace the features of a king—and stood from his throne, rattled. His grip on his spear tightened and he paced back and forth in front of his throne for a moment, before turning and looking at Lognir.

"Send word to _him_."

"Are you certain, broth-"

"_Yes_."

He had to inform his tentative ally. The one who had found a place in their broken realm for them to dwell away from Thanos' prying eyes.

The only other one who'd ever born the Jotun markings of _heir. _Laufey's _true_ firstborn. The _runt_.

"Send word to Loki."

* * *

Remy placed two ice cold beers down on one of the old, dry-rotted wooden tables that sat scattered across his tavern. Sitting across from the bulky, black-haired mutant, he leaned back against the creaking wooden chair he seated himself in and let his red-on-black eyes study Logan, carefully.

" 's been a long time, friend."

"Cut the bullshit, LeBeau," Logan replied and took a swig of his beer. He was a little surprised to find it was so cold in such a sweltering place but he didn't question it. Having a nice, cold drink after days of trekking through the remnants of Muspelheim was incredible and he wasn't about to look a cold beer in the mouth. "What're you doin' lettin' Thanos post his dirty work in your place? You ain't never been one for authority."

Remy leaned forward, pushing his fingers through the handle of his beer mug and taking a long, thoughtful drink. He smirked, his expression dry and bitter as anger kinetic energy buzzed, lightly, up the side of the glass, causing the beer to boil inside a little. "He got cher."

"Come again, bub?"

"Rogue, Logan. He got Rogue Inside dat big steel and glass compoud a'his, somewhere. He keepin' her," Remy replied. His eyes moved, quietly, to the girl next to Logan, when she shifted in her spot, uncomfortable and tense. "We was both under his command. He did somethin' to us, Logan. Made us into somethin' we wasn't."

Before Logan knew it, a deck of cards appeared out of the pocket of Remy's old, musty trenchcoat and were being flipped through the long, powerful fingers of the energy user. A nervous, thoughtful gesture, Logan realized.

"He made us like you, Logan...immortal, or at least...long-lastin'. I dunno how but he did it." He let out a long sigh and then looked up at him. "How long it been now, Logan? I been scared to ask...how long since the merge?"

Logan was silent for a long moment, his drinks slow, as if savoring the taste of barley and alcohol that slid, smoothly, down his throat. Then, he put the mug down, firmly, and glanced at the woman at his side, before looking up into anxious black eyes. "Just over a century, Remy."

Logan noticed the physical reaction in him, watched him crush a card into his hand, and smelled the blood as the hard paper cut into Remy's skin.

Remy averted his gaze, twisting his line of sight to the small window at the other end of the tavern, gazing out into the heat-ravaged landscape in which he lived. He threw the card away from him and mopped the sweat from his brow, smearing tiny tracks of blood over his forehead.

"Dat ain't all, Logan." His voice dropped, the soft tenor of it now a low murmur.

Logan leaned in close to hear him.

"He does somethin' else, Logan. Somethin' that makes us forget who we is." Remy's eyes clamped shut, tightly. "So that we're loyal. Unwaveringly loyal. And deadly. Dat's what he done to me and cher. Dat's why he was keepin' us. Each of us in our own chambers, 's far as I can remember. Chambers made to seem like bedrooms, each wit' dey own beds. Even give off artificial sunlight when we wake in de mornin'. Like we getting' up on a cool, spring day...like got some kind of our own agency. But we ain't, Logan. We're slaves to him. And...after I remembered...when I was runnin'...when I was leavin' the compound...I saw dem...hundreds...thousands of those chambers. Dey ain't beds, Logan...dey stasis pods. Whatever he's dosin' us wit' to keep us loyal, it comes from dem stasis pods. I jus' know it."

Logan's face was dark; it's expression filled with anxiety, worry and anger. Rogue was his friend, once upon a time. One of his best friends, in fact. Last time he'd seen her, though, her relationship with the infamous Gambit—who Logan hadn't seen in 10+ years—had been fresh and new. But she was happy. Happier than she'd been with Bobby. At least when her powers came back. Remy knew this trick, he remembered, where he could use his kinetic energy as a kind of invisible, full-body shield. It gave Rogue license to touch him. To kiss him.

It was like Rogue could be completely who she was with him.

And clearly, she'd tamed the wild man in Remy, too.

Logan glanced at the yellowing piece of paper beneath his beer cup, now soaked by a rim of condensation, which dried nearly instantly when he moved the beer from atop it. "And what about him? If I remember correctly, it was just a year before all this shit went down with Thanos that this douchebag was workin' for him, wasn't it? Suddenly, Thanos has a bounty out on 'im."

Remy crooked a finger at him, gesturing him to lean in close. He noticed the woman leaned in with him. "Rumors been spreadin', y'know. Firs' of all, y'know, 'fore all this went down, that the 'vengers was lettin' Laufeyson try to redeem himself for Manhattan, ya?"

"I heard somethin' along those lines," Logan replied. He and Captain Rogers had met briefly during the war. He'd still kept in contact with the Captain up until that point. So, he had had some insight into the world of the Avengers.

"Well, I guess when the team fell, and Loki was de only one lef' alive, he had some kinda major change'a heart. He been shuttlin' people off-realm wit' his magic for years now, so I hear," Remy finished. He leaned back in his chair, listening to it squeak, feeling the warm, rough wood against the skin of his forearms as he placed them against the armrests. "Pers'nally, I get the feelin' he was startin' to change 'fore the team's defeat. Y'don' just start helpin' a race y'hated 'cause a couple'a people you never liked in the firs' place up and kick the bucket. 's all I'm sayin'."

He turned his eyes to his card deck, shuffling.

"Wouldn't be surprised." Logan finished his beer. "After all, Cap was tryin' to keep me in the loop during the whole thing. In case he went batshit insane on New York again. Wanted to make sure I had the heads up if we had to evac the school. But he said, Mr. Mischief was makin' progress...spendin' lotsa time with his bro...and the redhead."

"Redhead?" Remy's head snapped up. "What red-"

"James." It was the first time the woman had spoken. In fact, she hadn't even removed her hood.

Logan took a deep breath and nodded. "I smell 'em, L." He jumped up, throwing a few Thanderians down with a smirk. "Thanks for the beer, LeBeau."

"Wait, what's comin'?" Remy asked. His eyes shifted to the paper that Logan snatched up. "Wait a sec...ya goin' af'er Loki?"

"Guess we'll see. So, if you got some intel as to where he might be hidin', I'd like ta get out of your hair, bub, considering there are at least five Chitauri comin' this way and I'd rather stay under Thanos' radar," Logan replied.

Remy blinked, cursed to himself and then sighed. " 's hard to say. Las' I heard, he and his men were makin' their home underground...and in this weird, new world, there's a web of interconnecting tunnels from mine shafts to old catacombs to mausoleums. He could be anywhere."

"Ten seconds, LeBeau, I'm serious," Logan growled.

"Alright, alright...las' I heard, his men make their main base in an old mine," Remy whispered, glancing around for any overly curious eyes and ears. "...near the border where de old Jotun realm meets what once was Russia. A few hundred miles from Chernobyl."

"Chernobyl?"

"James, two minutes," the woman murmured.

Logan nodded, then turned to Remy. "Still radiation?"

Remy shook his head. "De pure air from Jotunheim cleansed the radiation away. Or so I heard. The place is more...Jotunheim than Russia now."

Logan snorted. "What's the difference?"

"James, _now_!"

"Fine, _fine_!" He looked at Remy. "That's all I need. Thanks again for the beer, bub."

With that, the two of them rushed the bar, hopping from table to table, disturbing drunken patrons as they dove through the back window and out of sight. A few seconds later, the Chitauri guards came through the door, and Remy was left with a twisting tale to weave about why his customers were angry and why his window was broken.

* * *

"I do not like this alliance you have with the Odinson."

Ljot lifted his pick from the ice, where he carved the history of the Jotuns into the inner walls of the mountain. He glanced at his mother, the sharp lines of his head shining like organic icicles. "Mother..."

"He is Laufey's firstborn, Ljot, my love. How do you know he will not try to steal your throne—to steal your _crown_?"

"Mother, Loki _Laufey_son may be a Jotun by birth but he is Asgardian by upbringing. He has made no interest toward my throne," replied her eldest, and began his task yet again. He would not let his people disappear into oblivion.

"It is not just that. He is not to be trusted. He killed your father," she argued, while her jealous thoughts swirled: _And he is the hideously tiny son of a hideously tiny female. _Laufey's tenth wife—the daughter of a man who had tried to rebel against Laufey's calloused rule. She was payment for his disloyalty. And of course, despite how Laufey had wanted Yngvild to be the first to give him a child, the runtish female had become pregnant first. And where her pregnancy had been a blow to Yngvild, Loki's small size had been one to Laufey, who then cast him away from his birthright, despite his markings.

It was many hundreds of years before Ljot was born after that, but for that Yngvild was pleased as she had been able to give Laufey a son to replace the disgraceful one he'd disposed of. But now, Ljot, whom she had been so proud to give to Laufey as a _true_ heir, was making the mistakes of one of lesser birth—trusting a traitor, and a runt.

"Perhaps, Father deserved his fate," Ljot replied. "For trusting his firstborn again so very easily."

"You bite your tongue! He-"

"Sire."

Ljot stood from his crouched position as Lognir's lieutenant captain approached, bowing to him, respectfully.

"Yes?" Ljot asked, placing his pick down nearby and picking up his spear.

"The Asgardian is here."

Loki hated visiting the Jotun caverns. He felt the same ugly loneliness he'd once felt when he was still angry and hurt by Odin's deception. Surrounded by the cold, icy walls of the caves, he could just recall the frosty bite of bitterness that such a lie had caused deep within his heart, and as he traveled down the deep tunnels, he could see his skin wavering between milky white and blue, as if the memories caused all that was Asgardian in him to war against all that was Jotun.

With his hair tied back in Frigga's band, and wearing his best cloak—still made of rough wool but dyed a deep green—he was led by the Frost Giants through their now sacred tunnels into the main chamber where he knew he would meet with Ljot—his half-brother. He was paused in his stride just outside the chamber by the Frost Giants leading him, and the lieutenant captain traveled inside the chamber. He could hear the muffled voices within and could discern that only three Jotuns resided within. The rest must have traveled back to their prospective dwellings within the caverns.

A few moments later, the lieutenant captain returned. "You may go in."

Loki checked his earpiece to make sure it was still in tact and working and then traveled into the confines of the chamber, his own spear—his _new_ spear—clutched firmly in his hand. With the slow, sweep of his cloak, he bowed to the Jotun seated on the king's throne, and gave a small nod to the Queen mother.

"You summoned me, Ljot," Loki murmured. "May I inquire as to the purpose?"

Ljot stood, towering over Loki, a monumental beast compared to his smaller half-brother. "You may. As you know, my people have all been rallied to your cause—on a tentative basis."

"Of course."

"As such, we sometimes send small, concentrated teams out to cause disturbances in a few of Thanos' more ill-ochestrated plans," Ljot continued. "As of late, we sent a condensed seem of some our best—my younger sister included. Upon her return, she reported that Thanos has some interest in something beneath the Flat-ice. Or perhaps something _within_ the Flat-ice. It disconcerts me what that might be."

"And so?" Loki asked, pacing the main chamber with calculated steps, his boot-heels clicking against the cool ice beneath him.

"And so, Lyrn and her team were sent to destroy the ice before Thanos could procure whatever it was he was searching for," Ljot replied.

Loki gave a dry chuckle. "You were unsure whether he wanted what was beneath the ice _or _within the ice, yet you sent a team of Jotuns to destroy the ice, thereby, _perhaps_, making it even easier for Thanos to get whatever he might be searching for? And this is my concern, how?"

Ljot's expression darkened. "The ice is broken, Loki. It may take those uncertain waters weeks to refreeze and the Chitauri cannot dive in such cool temperatures. Our plans were not so ill-advised."

"Touche. Well, if that is all, I, myself, will dive the waters in search of whatever Thanos' craves. If that will put your mind at ease, _brother_."

Yngvild hissed and Loki smirked, deeply. "It's good to see you, too, dear Queen. How is your husband? Oh, forgive me. After a century, the mind begins to go."

Yngvild jumped up from her place on her throne and took large, angry strides toward the smaller Loki, but his magic coursed through the runes carved onto the spear like water through a swirling canal. The adamantium glowed a deep blue.

"Another step, madam, and I promise on the Odinsleep, I will not hesitate," Loki growled.

"Mother, _enough,_" Ljot boomed. "I am _still King_!"

Yngvild quelled her anger, and let herself wander backwards, sinking back into the cool comfort of her throne, her red eyes gleaming with malice at her late husband's banished firstborn.

"There is more, Loki. Something vital that my sister must relay to you, immediately," Ljot continued. "_Lyrn_!"

Loki swiveled his head on his long, strong neck as the Jotun princess stepped into the main chamber, dressed in a long loincloth, which seemed to be made of lace and which gleamed with jewels the deep blue color of ice. A veil of the same material and make hung over the back of her head, two long strips of lace from it falling over her shoulders to cover her breasts.

She may have been beautiful if it weren't for her sharp features—features that seemed to be carved from the icy mountain itself—and her pupiless red eyes.

"You summoned me, brother?" Lyrn questioned.

Ljot stood, picking up his spear, bending his elbow, revealing the sharp point of it, as he slammed the spear down, authoritatively. "Tell the Asgardian what you relayed to me. About your time on the Flat-ice. Tell him of Thanos' general."

Lyrn gave a deep nod and turned to Loki. "Welcome to our caverns, Loki. As my men and I traversed the Flat-ice, we were ambushed by Thanos' factions. They were being led. By a woman."

"What has any of this got to do with me?" Loki asked, his expression a painting of apathetic boredom.

"Sir, it has much to do with you. The woman was most certainly-"

Loki held up a hand to her and pressed a finger to his ear.

On the other end of his earpiece, he heard, _"Loki." _Heimdall. _"We have a problem. We need you to return immediately, my prince."_

"I'm in the middle of-" Loki began.

"_**Now**__, my prince. It's urgent. There are intruders."_

Loki's green orbs widened and he looked at Ljot and Lyrn, distressed. "I must leave, immediately. I am sorry, Princess, but your story must wait for another time." He turned to leave, his cloak sweeping the icy floor, the magic in his spear causing a stream of glowing light in the air for a moment.

"_Wait_!" Lyrn called.

"_I haven't the time_!" Loki hissed, but he paused when he noticed the paralyzed state of the Jotun woman, her pupiless eyes glowing a bright, blood red.

"_Then, listen well to this, Loki, son of Odin, son of Laufey," _the woman bellowed, her voice like an echo. "_If you will not hear my story, listen well to my words. I see this woman, a general of Thanos, among your men. Among your closest friends and family. For good or ill, I cannot say for sure, so take heed, Prince of Asgard, and Jotun child. Take heed._"

With that, Lyrn slumped to her knees, dizzy from the prophecy.

Loki was frozen in his place, fear gluing him to his spot, while the insatiable urge to burn all to the ground that had Thanos' mark on their minds and hearts clutched his very soul. Using this inner strength, this ferocious drive, to break free of his fear, he turned, quickly and began his long, determined stride through the caverns. The last thought he had—a triviality of thought, he realized, yet somehow could not let go—was how very much the Jotun female's voice sounded like the deep chime of a bell.

* * *

The hike from Muspelheim's Remnant to Jotussia—impromptu names that Logan himself had come up with to keep the mish-mash of realms and places straight—took until nightfall. Everything seemed so much smaller nowadays. But still, he and his companion had been walking for nearly ten hours straight, and if the position of the stars was any indication, it was almost 11pm now.

"I think we're close," Logan mumbled, taking a deep whiff of the cool air around them.

A soft breeze cropped up as they walked, blowing the woman's hood back from her face, long black hair spilling down over her shoulders. She looked at him. "Why did you allow Gambit to call you Logan? I thought we'd decided'James' was safer."

Logan frowned. "It's not as if Remy knew any better, L. And he was real quiet when he realized who I was and why I was around. Now, quiet. I'm listening."

He got down on his stomach, pressing his ultra-sensitive ears to the ground beneath him, feeling his ear becoming frostbitten and then heal as he listened for the sounds of rusting pipes and footsteps. The Jotun caverns were at least 400 miles from here, and Chernobyl another 300 in the other direction. Which meant any sounds of life he heard beneath his feet would have to be the old mines that Laufeyson had made into a shelter for his rebellious sect.

Then, he heard it. The sound of water rushing through pipe, the creaking of a rust worn scaffold under heavy boot-falls. He smirked. "We're close. C'mon." He jumped up and began to take heavy steps forward, as if searching for something with his feet. All he heard were the sounds of ice and cold, packed dirt, where he was sure, perhaps, grass may have grown once upon a time. All was cold now.

Finally, he found it. Letting his foot fall with a thud, he heard the clang of metal under his heel and grinned. "Found ya."

Wiping the snow away underneath his boot, he revealed a circular metal hatch. "Come on. Help me open this thing." Looping his thick fingers around the rusted metal ring connected to the hatch, he began to pull, grateful for the extra leverage when his companion did the same. With a deep, billowing creak and a 'thunk' the hatch bounced open and revealed a long, dark tunnel down into the mines, lined with ladders, one on each side.

Logan jumped down and grabbed onto a ladder, firmly, then craned his neck to stare at the young woman above him. "Come on, L."

The woman—"L"—frowned, but slid onto the second ladder and began to climb down after him. They moved carefully, cautiously, being very intentional to make as little noise as possible. Little did they know, as they slid down the ladders, quietly, that they passed a few subtle, infrared motion sensors, causing an alarm deeper into the mines to sound, blaring into Fandral and his workshoppers' ears.

He thought it might have just been a glitch, at first.

Until Heimdall, who was tasked with the watch that night, informed him that he'd seen two strangers descending into their west entrance just moments before.

After they called it into Loki, it took him only ten minutes to return to their hideaway, and only that long because he knew that the Jotun cavernswere protected by wards carved into the ice that did not allow for arriving or disembarking via any kind of magical transport. He had had to weave his way outside of the mountain and out into the open, which was a danger to him, but necessary in such an emergency, before he could phase back to the mines.

And so, when Logan and "L" finally landed on one of the many criss-crossing metal scaffolds of the mines, Logan turned with a triumphant grin only to come face to face with the sharpened tip of an adamantium spear glowing with powerful Asgardian magic.

"Well, L," Logan said, "I think we found him."

* * *

"For you were bought at a price; therefore glorify God in your body and in your spirit, which are God's." 1 Corinthians 6:20

Please review.


	5. Chapter 4

Author Note: I just wanted to say thank you to all of the people who have been reviewing this story. I also had someone ask why I put Bible verses at the end of each chapter. They have nothing to do with the story. Because of my own Christianity, it's just something I like to do, hoping maybe it'll inspire someone else in passing. That's all! :) Anyway, enjoy.

Disclaimer: How do I own Marvel and Disney? Let me count the ways: Zero.

* * *

Chapter 4

* * *

"Well, L," Logan said, "I think we found him."

He jerked his head back as Loki's blade inched closer to his neck, glancing between Loki and the two men standing behind him—one a hulking black man and the other well-toned and carrying some kind of gun.

It was then that Logan caught a whiff of the metal just under his nose and his eyes widened. Out of instinct, his claws shot from between his knuckles and struck at the spear, the hard, metallic clang of metal ringing through the mines as Loki stumbling backward before righting himself, twisting his body around to strike back with all his might.

The two men behind moved to join in the fight, but a sharp look from Loki paused their forward motion. _This is between us_, his eyes seemed to convey, his striking movement uninterrupted by the swift gaze.

Logan lifted his claws to block the strike, only to have the woman next to him race in front of him, two gleaming adamantium claws blocking the blow with strength and agility. She was glaring at Loki, blue orbs gleaming with determination and intensity.

Pushing the spear away from her, the woman launched herself at the Asgardian, claws aimed directly at his chest. Loki jerked his upper body back away from her strikes, spinning his spear back behind his back—a diversion—before twisting it into his other hand and looping it around under her legs, tripping her.

With one last vertical spin of the spear, he lunged the blade swiftly at her, stopping mere inches from her neck, his green eyes narrowed.

"Enough, _enough_!" Logan growled. The woman let her head lull back, her blue eyes watching him, calculatingly. Logan shook his head. "Laura...enough."

"But aren't we-" she began, her voice tense from her current position. Logan shook his head again and then looked at Loki. "Let her go. We're not here to hurt anyone."

"And how am I to know that for certain?" Loki hissed as the men behind him moved to each of his flanks. Logan heard the whining hiss of the rifle the smaller man held as he cocked it, the power humming through it, ready to be fired. The larger man held nothing more than a rusted metal pipe, which Logan was sure he could wield just as well as anyone could shoot a gun.

Logan looked at the woman—Laura—and nodded, holding out his hand to her as his claws slid, slowly, back into his body. Laura gave him an incredulous look—_I'm a little busy here—_but shifting, as much as possible, under Loki's spear and reached into her cloak. Blue eyes studied Loki, carefully, making sure he did not try to dispatch her, before she yanked a sheet of paper from within and handed it to Logan.

Logan opened it and held it out to the Trickster.

Loki's suspicion was palpable, and visible on his face. He glanced behind him. "Fandral," he murmured, and the man with the rifle reached out and snatch the paper from Logan. His face darkened, immediately.

He leaned in close to Loki, and whispered in his ear: "It is a bounty, Loki. A bounty issues from Thanos...for you."

Loki's suspicious, narrowed eyes widened immediately into anxious concern and then his brow slammed down into anger and he turned his spear on Logan again. "You wish to prove to me that you have not come to harm me or those under me yet you hand me _this_? You are a fool!"

"_That_'s the proof. I coulda cashed in on this bounty as soon as I found you, bub, but I didn't."

Loki pushed his spear closer to Logan. "Then, _why_ did you attack me?"

Logan sniffed the air again, the angry stench of adamantium bringing back memories he wished he could yet forget again. He knocked his knuckles against the spear blade. "What's this made outta?"

Laura was getting to her feet, sweeping her cloak off of her form, revealing the tattered jeans and dingy white t-shirt beneath, her feet bound up in a pair of black tennis shoes that were wore through at the heels. "Smells like adamantium to me, Logan."

"That is correct," Fandral replied, his face denoting his surprise. "But how did you-"

Beneath her cloak was also a backpack that was secured tightly to her shoulders. Pulling it off, she let it fall with a heavy clatter to the scaffold beneath her feet and then opened it. Reaching in, carefully, she straightened, her hands around a large, heavy lump of something metallic.

Fandral let out a small puff of air—a gasp. "My friend, that is..."

"The last of the adamantium, yeah," Logan replied. "Laura and I made sure to protect it when the school crumbled."

Loki was confused, anxious and concerned, but his curiosity allowed enough for enough leeway in his mind that he lowered his spear and murmured, "You seem familiar. Who are you?"

"You wouldn't have known me all that great. I was a friend of Captain Rogers, and I'd met your brother, maybe, on two occasions before he dragged your ass back to our world," Logan replied. "My name is Logan. Wolverine."

Loki took a step back. _This is one of the X-Men. I had heard of them, briefly, from Natasha...that was so long ago..._

And thinking of Natasha caused a deep, painful pressure in his heart. Taking a long, calming breath, he turned his back to Logan, whispering something to his two men, before swiveling his head toward them again, the muscles in his neck straining and flexing with the movement. His eyes fell to the young woman, who couldn't have been more than seventeen to twenty years old in physicality.

"And this?" he asked.

"This is Laura Kinney," he mumbled. "She's..." _For lack of a better explanation, _"my daughter."

* * *

"_You wouldn't have won," Natasha said to the black haired, green eyed man over lunch one day. They were sitting in Stark Tower's main kitchen, and he was picking at a plate of chicken picatta while she took small, intentional bites of a pecan salad. _

_He looked up at her, a slim, black eyebrow raised at her sudden assumption. "And why is that? And do not tell me it's because I _lacked conviction_."_

_Natasha glared at him, not appreciating his joke at Coulson's expense. And with her expression, the man cleared his throat, casting his apologetic gaze down at his food. _

_She took the silent apology, though, and continued, "Because we're not the only exceptional people out there willing to right wrongs. In fact, we're not even the only ones in the state of New York."_

_He placed his fork down and steepled his fingers, resting his elbows on the table and raising an questioning eyebrow at him._

_Natasha chuckled and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. "Well, there's Spider-Man, but SHIELD is wary to let him in on any of their goings-on because he's just a kid. And of course, there's...well, the X-Men."_

"_X-Men?" _

"_They're a sort of team, made up of exceptional people. More exceptional than the Avengers in some regards. They were run by a man named Charles Xavier until a few years ago," Natasha explained, popping a pecan into her mouth and chewing thoughtfully. "He passed away though and one of his former students runs the school now."_

"_Well, I'll try to remember how outmatched I am the next time I decide to take over Midgard. Thank you for your assistance," the green-eyed stranger replied, his smirk denoting the non-serious nature of the statement, before he silently turned back to his lunch._

_Natasha watched him for a moment, smiling, a tightness growing in her heart she tried to ignore, and then turned back to her salad in silence._

Pale eyelids twitched within the confines of REM sleep, before blue eyes opened softly and Natalia glanced around her room. The dreams were getting more frequent, now, and day by day, they felt more and more like memories—realities she had once lived and breathed. Yet still, even so, she could not recall the name of the handsome green-eyed stranger that haunted them so vividly.

Standing from her bed, she wiped the sleep from her eyes and stood, looking across the room at the mirror which had been replaced a few days prior. With a deep, shaky sigh, she made her way across the room to the cylindrical cleansing chamber and had herself dressed and prepared for the day. She had been given her orders the night before and, therefore, did not have to visit the main throne room on this day.

So, with all the silence and stealth of an assassin, she made her way down and through the twisting, cold metal halls of the compound, and departed, her weapons strapped securely to her person.

* * *

Frigga poured some tea for Logan and Laura where they sat at the table in the small quarters she and her son shared. Loki was in the corner, speaking quietly with Fandral, as the two visitors sipped their tea and watched the two men chat, curiously.

"I had forgotten about the X-Men," Loki murmured, his long fingers tapping an anxious andante against his bicep. "When you mentioned the metal had come from a school in New York, I was surprised, but I had an inkling, as if the information was somehow familiar. Now, I remember."

"Are we right to trust them, though?" Fandral asked. "Are we right to allow them here? They were carrying a bounty to bring you to Thanos. Dead or alive."

"I am not one who is easy to kill. Even at the claws of a man with special metal infused to his bones," mumbled Loki.

"That is not the point. And the bounty clearly pointed out that Thanos preferred you alive. Clearly, so he could dispatch you himself," replied Fandral, heatedly. "This is a bad idea. I do not think we should trust them, nor do I think we should let them stay, no matter how much adamantium they carry with them."

"Thor," Loki said quickly, looking directly into Fandral's uncertain eyes, "would have wanted me to help them. They were friends of Captain Rogers. Fellow heroes."

"And now, Loki?" Fandral asked. Loki was silent. Fandral nodded. "Let me tell you what I think, then. Now...they are refugees, living in a broken world, willing to do _anything _to keep themselves alive...to keep the eyes of Thanos off of them and on something—_anything—_else."

Loki shook his head. "I don't care. They are staying. End of discussion." With that, he moved past his friend and to the table where the strangers sat. Sinking into one of the chairs, carefully, he placed his hands, folded, on the tabletop and focused his gaze on them, studying their expressions and movements, attentively.

"If you haven't come to collect on the bounty," Loki began, slowly, as if considering his words carefully, "then why have you come?"

Logan finished his tea and thanked Frigga as he handed her the cup, before turning his gaze on Loki, his thick forearm resting against the rough wooden surface of the table. "Look, here's the deal, Tricky. We ain't got no money, no food, and no clothes. Game is getting harder to find 'cause of the way the landscape keeps changing from one to the next. And every time we trade with someone, we risk being exposed to Thanos."

Loki steepled his long fingers and rested his chin, heavily, against the them, a single, dark eyebrow raising. Inquiring.

Logan sighed. "Alright, if you want me to spell it out for you, I will. You either let us stay, let us _work_, let us _help_ and in return, you give us shelter, food and clothes...or we collect on that bounty, right here and now."

Fandral, who had been standing, quietly, suspiciously, suddenly lunged forward. "Is that a threat-"

But his forward motion was paused when Loki raised his hand, swiftly, the motion a clear signal to stop. His eyes never left Logan's. "Not a threat," he murmured, a look of understanding gleaming in glowing green orbs. "An ultimatum."

Logan nodded. "I'd rather not fight a god. But I will if it'll keep my kid and me fed and clothed. So, please, bub..."

The Trickster god was silent for a long time. Contemplating. Weighing the pros and the cons of the deal presented to him. Then, he turned his calculating eyes on his mother, who's face held an expression of experience that Loki could not ignore—the experience of a person who would do anything to provide for her child. She nodded, gently.

Loki took a long, deep breath and then turned a decided gaze on Logan. "Very well. You may stay. But you _will_ work," he began, and then glanced at his friend behind him, "with Fandral. In the workshop. You understand adamantium. It's properties, how it works. You will help Fandral construct weapons for our cause, utilizing your supply."

"But-" Laura began, but Logan stopped her, offering Loki a nod.

"In return, we will find you a place to stay and supply you with any food and clothing we may have. Which, mind you, is not much. But we do our best. Do we have a deal, Wolverine?"

There was a short silence, and then Logan mumbled, "Fine. Deal."

"Good," Loki murmured. "Fandral. Why don't _you_ show them around?"

Fandral scoffed, internally, as Logan and Laura stood. With a glare to his (now smirking) prince, he mumbled, "This way," to their newest recruits and led them out. As much as he respected Loki, sometimes he remembered why he'd disliked him so much in the first place.

* * *

The remnant of Muspelheim was one of Natalia's least favorite places. Sure, she dealt with rogue Jotuns, Elves, Dwarves, mutants and humans on a daily basis, but demons were her least favorite to handle. They were fiery beings with horrible tempers who not only rebelled against Thanos' regime but outwardly laughed at it, unafraid of his wrath or his soldiers. They were unruly, unyielding and unpredictable.

Traits that their flaming landscape also shared with them. As she whizzed through the unruly area on a photon-cycle, she had to use instincts and reflexes to dodge and weave through magma-geysers that spurted up, intensely. She had one primary target as her goal: LeBeau's Tavern. About a day earlier, Thanos had been given word that something strange had occurred there, and though LeBeau had ridden it off as nothing, she had been tasked to check it out. Also, the newest bounty was missing. It was her job to find out if it had been taken as a job...or removed by one of Laufeyson's zealous followers.

She could now see the ridge on which the tavern sat in the distance, and, cranking the photon-pulsator on the cycle's handle bars back, she revved the engine, loudly, and used one the man small crags that protuded from the ground as a ramp, picking up speed and hitting it with all the force inside the bike, she and the cycle soaring through the air and landing with a hard, metallic thud and a bounce of shocks on the ridge, where she skidded the bike to a stop, and killed the engine.

Throwing her well-toned leg over and stepped off the bike, she made sure her weapons were still secured, safely, to her person and made her way to the bar's front door, listening to the tiny bell jingle as she made her way inside.

Immediately, she knew this was not going to be a fun mission.

Within, Remy LeBeau was arguing with a pair of Surtur's proverbial children, a pair of demons, who's fiery physical demeanor was being quelled by the magic of their former realm, so as not to set fire to any of the wood within the man's bar. However, she could tell by the way the bar-top began to smoulder than the argument was getting, for lack of a better term, heated and that they were not keeping the fire in the veins and on their skin in check.

"I tol' ya, it's twelve Thanderians for two whiskeys, gentlemen. I can't make m'self no clearer!" she heard LeBeau reasoning, but the two demons would not have it. Grabbing him by the shirt collar, one shook him fiercely, blowing smoke directly into his red-on-black eyes while the other turned to the bar patrons.

"How many of you think this fine gentleman should let us have our whiskey at a discount? Think carefully before you answer," the second demon bellowed into the mouth of the bar. Then, he placed the intense flame of his hand against one of the empty tables and almost instantaneously, it burned away to ash.

Remy's eyes widened. "Hey! Stop dat! Ain't nobody try'na do not'in but honest business here!" He was still grasped in the grip of the first demon and he could feel the heat rising against his neck.

The second demon set another table ablaze, this time with patrons seated behind it, who jumped up with a cry when their table burned out underneath them, their drinks falling to the ground with a loud smash of glass.

Natalia's eyes narrowed and before the second demon could ignite the floor beneath his feet, she had whipped out her rifle, spinning it swiftly in her hands to activate the photons before moving in quick strides toward the demon, the rifle pointed directly between his eyes. "Get up," she said, as he had crouched to set the floor panels ablaze.

With an intense glare that held more fire than perhaps the flames in his hands ever good, the demon stood, hands up, the flames in his fingers extinguished a little. Natalia cocked the rifle a second time, the activated photons charging up further, humming with dangerous life. "Pay the man, gentlemen, and go back to enjoying your drinks. You," she snapped, turning her gaze to the first demon. "Release him or I'll put a cauterized hole right through your friends head here."

The first released Remy's collar, the fabric of his shirt singed, his skin red from the lengthy exposure to such intense heat. The tavern owner cleared his throat and adjusted his shirt a little, before nodding. The second demon made his way toward the first, and handed over a few shining coins and turned to leave, knocking their half-full glasses to the floor with a clatter and a snicker before they departed.

Natalia let out a 'hn' of indignation as they departed and lowered her rifle, the soft humming of active photons dissipating as she attached it, again, to her back and made her way to the bar.

Remy watched her, intently, remembering her as the one who'd posted Laufeyson's bounty, but turned away from her when she seated herself at the bar, before turning back and putting a small shooter glass in front of her. "Vodka, right?"

Natalia couldn't help but allow a tiny smile to grace her features. "You always remember."

"Eh, it's m'job, cher," he replied and poured her a glass. "So, what brings ya back to m'humble tavern twice in the course'a two days?"

"Thanos is concerned," Natalia replied, "with the report that his Chitauri scouts brought back last night. He doesn't believe your story about a the demons vandalizing your windows. Especially since Laufeyson's posted bounty is missing. He sent me to investigate."

"I tol' him what I know, okay?" Remy replied. "I also tol' him that I wasn' 'round when they done it, cher. I was replenishin' m'stock. Y'know how crucial it is to keep col' beer col' in an area like this? I had to bring that stock inside 'fore it could overheat. Nothin' nastier than warm beer."

He had started shuffling cards, nervously, his red-on-black eyes fluttering from one end of the tavern to the other, never once meeting her gaze. She narrowed blue eyes, studying him carefully, watching every twitching muscle, every clench of jaw or fingers. She watched the cards flutter from one hand to the other and had an idea.

With a red-lipped smirk, she finished her vodka and placed the glass down, gently, before murmuring, "I think you're lying, Remy, but I like you. I don't want to have to tell Thanos you're betraying him. I don't want him to have to do anything you'll regret. So..."

She reached over the bar and plucked the cards from his fingers. "How about you tell me everything you know. I'll investigate. If I feel Thanos needs to know, I'll take the credit for it...if I don't, neither of us have anything to worry about."

Remy looked uncertain, his eyes suddenly intensely focused on the cards tucked in her slender fingers.

Natasha was silent, calculating his facial expressions, before she murmured, "How about this? We'll draw two cards. If I have the high card, you'll tell me. I'll investigate and I'll make a report without involving you at all. If you have it, I'll leave, corroborate your story to Thanos' and that will be that. It's a win-win."

She held out her hand, her palm outstretched, the cards sitting vertically from the base of her hand to the middle of her longest finger, their painted red backs winking at him with the low light of the bar that glinted off their shining surfaces. Glinting like Natasha's eyes as they watched him with warning. Warning that he knew meant she would _persuade_ the information out of him one way or another.

Remy took a deep breath and plucked a card from the top, placing it face down on the bar top. His then upturned his eyes to watch her face as she drew her card and placed it down.

"Ready?" she asked, and placed two long, painted fingers on top of the card, her thumb sliding carefully underneath it.

Remy did the same with his card, though he had to keep the kinetic energy that buzzed to life in his tense fingers from filling the object. Whenever he was nervous, angry or stressed, it coursed through him like electricity through a live-wire. But he had to keep it at bay. He nodded.

"One."

_C'mon, high card, c'mon_, begged Remy within his own mind.

"Two."

_Jus' don' hurt Rogue. Jus' don' hurt Rogue._

"Three!"

Flipping their cards over, Remy felt elated upon seeing the King he'd just flipped, knowing that only one other card could trump such a high card. He began to grin as he slid his gaze from his card to Natasha's, only to feel his heart sink so low, it settled in his feet when he realized, she _had_ drawn that _one_ card.

An Ace.

Natasha smirked and then turned a fiery blue gaze on Remy. Pulling her blaster pistol from its holster, she placed it on the bar top as extra incentive before looking directly into his eyes with all the seriousness of her position, and murmured, "Tell me everything."

* * *

Logan and Fandral were gone for a long while. Laura, it had been decided, would stay with Frigga for a while, and let the Asgardian queen clean her up a little. After all, Logan had argued, it wasn't often Laura got to act like a woman. And so, Laura was confined to the room which Loki and his mother shared, letting Frigga wash and brush her hair, and dressed her in a clean black tunic and a pair of pants made from the hide of a Bilgesnipe—a scaly black leather material, carefully knitted together. She was given a pair of boots made from the same, which were a blessing and a curse to her. They were sturdy, she realized, but she felt it would be harder to pierce through them with the foot-claw and thus, she felt she might be handicapped in a fight.

But she wouldn't have to fight, she realized. Not right now. Not always. Her training had taught her that the fight—the kill—was necessary for survival, for life, for existence. But Logan and Xavier's School had been teaching her for years that there was _so much more_ to life, and as hard as the lesson was to learn, she was starting to realize it was true as she leaned back against Frigga's soft, motherly hands as she braided her inky black locks.

"Your hair reminds me of Sif's," Frigga murmured, her voice sad and nostalgic, her fingers twisting and looping Laura's hair into an intricate, beautiful braid.

"Sif?" Laura asked.

"She was a friend of my son..." Frigga's voice froze, a choking sound bubbling up from it. "...Thor's...back on Asgard. She was a most beautiful maiden and strongest of warriors. My dear Loki played a horrible trick on her as a child. She had the most wondrous mane of blonde hair...but Loki cut it all off and grew it back black and straight as a board. Much like yours."

Laura's face grew pensive, as she realized the comparison was meant to be a compliment—was meant to be about more than simply hair. She glanced over her shoulder at the queen, pausing the woman's work. "...what happened to her?"

"No one really knows," Frigga said, her voice a low whisper now, as if it was physically impossible to allow her voice to travel any louder in fear that it would cause the tears to fall and the sorrow to be evident. "We assume she...met the same fate as the others."

Laura cast her gaze down, and then gave an understanding, sympathetic nod. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright, dear," Frigga said. "She was like a daughter to me. And so I am proud to know that she and my son fell honorably." She finished the braid. "There. Done."

She handed Laura a dirty, grungy piece of a broken looking glass. "Have a look."

Laura looked at herself, in the mirror, free from the smear of animal blood and the crusting of dirt on her pale skin, with her hair washed and braided, and she wasn't sure how to respond. She felt the sudden urge to cry as she remembered Sarah, her mother, doing such things for her. Things that had gotten her killed because Laura had needed to learn that _love_, _care_ and _compassion_ were for the weak.

So were _sadness_, _pain_ and _tears_. At that, she threw down the class and stuff, ripping the braid from her hair, letting the tresses spill down around her shoulders, freely. Turning angry, uncertain eyes on a shocked Frigga, she spun and left the room in a frenzy, refusing to be mothered—refusing to cry.

* * *

Natalia shivered, an angry winter storm cropping up on the border of what many had begun to call Jotussia—where the once proud Russia met the cold, ugly eternal winters of Jotunheim. As the harsh cold wind whipped across her face, she pulled the warm white fur cloak tighter around her shoulders and looked at the coordinates rose on a holo-screen from a watch on her wrist. Because of the intensity of the storm, however, the screen buzzed and flickered, and finally disappeared.

Growling to herself, Natalia tapped, angrily, on the dead screen and then pursed her lips.

_Guess I'm on my own from here._ Which was a dangerous thing to be so close to the Jotun caverns. She knew the Frost Giants resided nearby, and that wandering these lands without proper coordinates spelled trouble. But she had no choice. Thanos had given her orders. It was her job to follow. That was all she was ever meant for—to follow his orders. She was a soldier, after all.

_...Stark's right. We are _not_ soldiers..._

_...monsters and magic and things we were never trained for..._

_...a very specific skill set..._

_...lie and kill, in the service of liars and killers..._

Natalia's fingers drifted to her head, cradling the now aching brow in her gloved palm. When she begged for answers, the voices were silent, but in moments when the utmost concentration was necessary, they poured into her mind like a million little bees, buzzing unhindered, refusing to let her focus.

She slammed her eyes shut, forcing the voices away and then refocused. Taking a deep breath, she pushed herself through the snow and the gusting winds as the blizzard intensified. She needed to find her destination or a place to rest for the night or she'd be frozen by morning for sure.

Pulling a pair of thermal goggles from a pack strapped to her other thigh, she pulled them on and looked for any signs of warmth because where there was warmth, there was a warm-blooded animal that needed to stay warm. And where there was an animal that needed warm, there might be a cave.

As she continued to trekked through the rigid, packed snow, pushing desperately through the firm powder, she began to wonder if she'd ever find shelter. The multiple suns in the sky began to shift as night began to fall. Snow whipped through her red curls, twisting them into a mess of knots and tangles as snow began to fog up her goggles. It was getting more difficult to see, to hear, and to feel as her limbs began to numb.

And that meant her reflexes were dulling and her eyesight was compromised. Her hearing was muffled by the high winds and her sense of smell dulled by the intense cold. The inches of snow grew and grew beneath her feet and when the moons finally rose, the snow was up to her knees.

Pausing, she let blue eyes wander from one end of the land to the other. And vast nothingness met her gaze. In the distance, she could see the tall, spiking crags of the mountains where she knew the Jotuns hid, but they seemed so far off, and hiding in such caverns was suicidal. Still, she felt the the dizziness of hypothermia overcoming her. The cold was growing colder, and the snow growing deeper. And as the the night wore on, as she pushed for another hour or so through the deep snow, finally the dizzy, weary grip of frosty cold finally caught up to her, causing her to slump forward, pale face turning blue from the temperature as her eyes fluttered open and closed, somewhere between life and unconsciousness.

_I am going to die..._

"_Come now, Natasha. You are so much stronger than that."_

_Who are you? Why is your voice the one that always takes precedence? What do you want with me?_

"_What I've always wanted, Natasha. Just you."_

_My name...is..._

The image of a man in Calcutta. A doctor. Asking her who she was. His voice was different from the one who spoke immediately before.

But her own voice could not have been clearer.

"_Natasha Romanoff."_

_Who? That's not me. That's my voice...but...but..._

"_Remember, Natasha. You're Russian, isn't that so? Or you were. And what are you now? Tell me..._who_ are you now?"_

_Natalia...Natalia..._

And just before frozen unconsciousness found her, she realized, no last name could ever or had ever accompanied the name that she was so certain was hers.

* * *

Ljot was alerted to the commotion of his inner court almost immediately. His sister and younger brother had gone scouting just hours before, when the suns had just begun to set, and now, hours later, as the night deepened, darkening as the many moons shifted and fought for control in the sky of a merged realm, there was chaos among his race's caverns, Lognir rushing into the main chamber in a whirl of uncertainty and instinct. There was an animalistic need in his eyes as he approached his brother at his throne.

"Brother!" he growled, his blue skin gleaming with the freshly fallen snow, blown forth by the blizzard raging outside.

Ljot stood, understanding the tense attitude of his sibling as something that signaled an unexpected—and possibly dangerous—development. Picking up his spear, he moved forward in the chamber. "What is it, Lognir? What's happened?"

"Lyrn...she found—well, see for yourself!" Lognir roared as Lyrn burst into the chamber, cradling something small in her large, runed arms. She sunk to her knees, carefully, and laid the small body on the ground beneath her, the usually pale, colored skin blue as the ice below, the chest barely moving, cold, shallow breaths barely wrenching from frozen lungs.

Ljot looked down at the tiny human, memorizing each curve of her body, each flaming curl of her hair, and with a sudden, intense realization, he figured out who the near-dead woman was. With fear, mixed with surety and arrogance, he looked up as the rest of Lyrn's scouts flooded in.

"Is this-?"

"Yes, my King," Lyrn replied. "It is she."

Ljot leaned, lifting the limp body with one strong hand and looked down into the delicately chiseled face of the dying form. He studied her, took her in, felt her dying beneath his fingers and then looked up at his siblings and their scouts.

"Lock her up. If she is an asset to Thanos, she may be an asset to us."

There was an uncertain silence as Lyrn and Lognir shared a glance before they nodded and bowed, lifting the body from the ground. However, before they could leave for good, Ljot gave them pause.

They looked at him.

Quietly, he spoke. "Tell no one of this." He was silent for a long moment, but his expression suggested there was more. "...especially Laufeyson."

With that, he waved them away, and as they departed, Lyrn looked, intensely, on the body of the woman she carried, feeling the small, intense buzzing of prophecy in the back of her mind—a reminder.

A warning.

* * *

"Lord God of Israel, there is no God in heaven above or on earth below like You, who keep Your covenant and mercy with Your servants who walk before You with all their hearts." 1 Kings 8:23

Please review


	6. Chapter 5

I saw Iron Man 3. Just warning you, eventually, some IM3 spoilers will sneak into this. Be prepared.

Disclaimer: Still don't own it. But I enjoy it!

* * *

Chapter 5

* * *

"_Loki..."_

_Natasha...is it you?_

"_Have you forgotten me, Loki?"_

_Never. Never, little spider._

"_Nicknames, Loki? When did we get to _that_ stage?"_

_My apologies. I do not mean to overstep my bounds...Natasha..._

"_Why haven't you come looking for me, Loki?"_

_Because...Natasha..._

"_Loki?"_

_...you're dead._

"_Are you so sure...Loki...?"_

_..._

"_**I see a woman...among your friends...family...for good...or **_**ill**_**...!"**_

Loki jerked awake with a gasp, sweat pouring down his face, clinging to his unkempt black hair, bare chest heaving as he tried to recall Natasha's voice, as it shifted so heinously to the voice of his half-sister—the Jotun, Lyrn—as she prophesied, mysteriously. Mopping sweat from his brow, he stood from the small cot he slept in. Glancing to the opposite side of the room, he noticed his mother still sleeping, as peacefully as she ever could with the sometime fitful nightmares she had of Odin and Thor.

Turning, he glanced at Logan, snoring on the floor near the couch where his daughter slept, the girl curled into an uncomfortable, tense ball. Everything _seemed_ normal and yet, he felt uneasy.

Pacing, he pushed his long fingers through his hair, his green eyes shifting back and forth as he tried to search his mind, search the confines of the dream, the voices, the _fear_ in his heart for answers. But nothing came.

With a sigh, he tread, barefoot, across the room to the table. As he moved, he did not notice the girl on the couch turn over and glance at him from over the edge of the blanket which Logan had thrown over her. Didn't see her watching him, curiously, or blushing at his state of half-dress.

Instead, he sat down at the table, tensely, nervously, before standing and pushing open a hidden hatch in the wall. Half of his body disappeared within the hole, a rummaging sound floating into Laura's ears, before he emerged with a mason jar and a tall, clear vase full of amber liquid. Sitting back down at the table, he poured himself half a jar full and took a long swig.

The smell filled her nose, immediately. Alcohol.

Sliding, quietly, off of the couch, she moved toward him, surprising him when she sat across from him—so much so he almost dropped the jar. Without a word, the young woman plucked the jar from his fingers and knocked it back, swallowing down the rest of it.

"Aren't you a little young to be drinking?" Loki whispered, glaring at her. He poured himself another glass.

Before he could finish, she pulled the vase from his hands and took a long, gulping drink directly from the fount of his remedy.

Loki's eyes narrowed. "Go back to bed."

When she was finished chugging half of the vase's warm, amber contents, she placed the glass container down and looked directly into his eyes. "I've been around people enough to know what it means when alcohol is in the picture," she replied, her voice low.

"That is none of your concern," he replied in a harsh whisper. "Go back to bed."

"And if I don't?" she asked and stood, pulling out a second jar from his secret hatch. She poured herself a _real_ glass and drank. "Well?"

Loki smirked and filled his jar again, nursing it slowly. "You're a nuisance."

"And you're not as tough as you make yourself seem. I can smell it on you: fear...anger...sadness. You'd be an easy target for someone like me."

Loki let out a silent, bitter laugh. "I am a demi-god, you dull-witted woman, and you, despite your _impressive_ abilities, are a mere human. I highly doubt that."

Laura shrugged, and then looked at her glass. With a smirk, she held it up to him and murmured, "Then prove it."

Loki lifted his own glass, stared deeply at the dark, gleaming liquid and then glanced over his shoulder at his mother. Pouring the liquid back into the vase, he stood, slid the alcohol back into its compartment and started back toward his bed.

Laura couldn't help but admire the way the muscles in his shoulders moved under the pale, scarred skin, despite her own better judgments. "So, you're just empty words."

She jumped to attention when his head swiveled, revealing his profile to her as a single green eye sought her out.

"Sometimes," he began, "...proof of strength comes in what you choose _not_ to do, rather than what you choose _to_ do. Remember that, and we shall see who is but empty words."

With that, Loki returned to his bed, unaware that Logan was listening, one eye cracked open, his crystal-blue orb watching them discreetly.

* * *

Natalia came back to consciousness to the sound of thunderous footfalls echoing in deep, icy caverns and a piles of blankets bundled around her lithe form, blocking her chilled skin from touching the frozen floor beneath her. As her blurry gaze adjusted to her surroundings, she was acutely aware of two things: she was alive, and she was behind bars.

Standing, she let the blankets float from her body, feeling the warmth trapped within her skin dissipate a little. Moving toward the bars, she reached out, touching what appeared, at first, to be merely bars made out of ice. However, as she touched the cool bars, the runes carved into the them lit up and she retracted her hand as the ice seemed to burn the very pads of her fingers, causing her to cringe.

"They are enchanted."

It was then that Natalia realized that someone else was in the room—on the other side of the bars. Natalia took a step back, moving into battle stance, sliding one leg behind the other, raising her fists to the ready.

"Stand down. I will not harm you," said the voice—a voice like a bell.

A very familiar voice. Suddenly, as the second body in the room stepped into the light of the wall's gleaming frost, Natalia realized why. It was the same female Frost Giant that had spared her life. Natalia let her battle stance drop and took a step forward, again.

"You," Natalia murmured.

"So, you remember me, Avenger," the Jotun replied. "But...do you remember yourself?"

Natalia's eyes narrowed, her brow furrowing. She shifted, her boots shuffling against the ice as she crossed her arms across her chest. "What kind of question is that? I am who I am. And why...why did you just call me 'Avenger'?"

_Earth's Mightiest..._

_Might—Might—Mightiest..._

Natalia's eyes slammed shut as a sharp pain shot through her mind—a sensation like an ice pick being slammed through one ear and out of the other.

"Because that is who you are."

Natalia stumbled backwards, catching her palms against the icy walls behind her, the cool surface meeting warm hands causing a deep, burning sensation that shot up her arms. She lifted her head to look at the Jotun. "My name is Natalia and I am a general in Thanos' battalion. Whoever you _think_ I am, it's nothing so weak and antiquated as an _Avenger_. The real question," Natalia said, taking deep, shaking breaths, "is who are _you_? And why do you think you know me so well?"

The Jotun was silent, her face hidden behind a veil of blue lace which she peeled back, gently, to reveal a face swirled with runes and eyes with no pupils. "My name is Lyrn. And I am princess of the Jotuns."

Before Natalia could ask any supplemental questions, however, the woman's eyes began to glow and she pressed her large, sharp fingers against the bars, causing the runes to light up, _"And I come bearing a message for you...the one called 'Natalia'. You are not who you think you are." _The bars began to melt away. _"Yet, you will not find the answers your subconscious seeks locked behind these bars. If you wish to find your answers...run. Run fast and far, Avenger, toward the East. Linger there, among faces and voices familiar to you...and your answers you may yet find."_

The bars were gone now. Melted away under Lyrn's magic. Natalia looked up at the Jotun female, and her face denoted a touch of suspicion. "Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me? Clearly, I was locked up for a reason."

Lyrn's eyes dimmed back to normal and she slumped against the wall, causing the human woman to take a step forward as if to catch her should she fall. But Lyrn turned her now normal-colored, pupiless eyes on Natalia and replied, "The events of my visions far outweigh my brother's near-sighted contrivances. The cosmos has something larger than this cage for you, human. Now go, before I change my mind."

Natalia opened her mouth to speak, but Lyrn held out her pistol and rifle in her large, craggly hand.

"_Now_."

Natalia grit her teeth, looking uncertain and unconvinced.

"My brothers sleep now," Lyrn said, regaining her strength. "And the watch is light. If you do not go now, you will not escape with your life."

Natalia glanced from one end of the prison to the other and then let out a long, exasperated sigh, hitched her weapons into their holsters and rushed out and down the long tunnel that Lyrn had entered from. Only a small, determined looked shared between the women allowed Natalia to offer a 'thank you' to the giant before she rushed out, using as much non-lethal force as necessary to escape the chilling caverns of the Jotun race.

The blizzard still raged. But this time, Natalia found, tucked within her things a small, primitive compass and a potion she could only assume Lyrn had placed on her person before she'd awoken that, when swallowed, caused a warmth to bubble up in her and linger for hours and hours as she traveled.

* * *

"Loki, the blizzard is too strong," Heimdall murmured to the prince the next morning, when Loki came into what they called the Watchman's Warehouse, where each night's watch kept track of the cameras and heat sensors placed at each of the mine's entrances. He had come, hoping for some news back from the squadrons they'd sent out the night before, hoping to find any leads that Logan and Laura may have accidentally brought along with them.

"So, they have not reported in?" Loki asked, running a stained towel through wet hair. He'd gone topside to check some of the equipment and the blizzard had caused him to return, dripping wet from hair to soles. He wrung out his tunic and pulled his wet hair into his mother's rubber band before typing his passkey into the computer and tapping the old, cracked touch-screens that they'd salvaged from the mine's deepest caverns when they were cleaning them out for Odin.

Suddenly, four different screens appeared in front of them—the four separate entrances (North, South, East, West) to the mines—and Loki picked up a microphone, sliding it onto his head. He dialed in a certain radio frequency, and said, "This is Royal Green, calling all squadrons. Please respond."

There was static but no voices. The blizzard was scrambling their equipment.

"Royal Green to squadrons. Respond."

More static. Loki growled and threw the microphone down. Glancing at Heimdall, he frowned when the former Seer yawned. Shaking his head, he placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "Go. Get some rest. You've done well. I will take over watch for the time being."

"But, my prince, you should not have to-"

"Thor once told me," Loki began, "that to think oneself above another is to be suited ill for a title or a throne. If I am your prince, my friend, then you must let me also be your equal. Please."

Heimdall's eyes softened, suddenly. Loki had come so far from the spoiled, angry child who had tried to force him to obey—who had frozen him out of disobedience. This man before him, who wished to take his burden instead of forcing him to keep it was a man he was proud to call _prince_.

"Very well, sire," Heimdall murmured and then stood, giving a respectful bow and leaving the Warehouse with a quiet shuffle.

Loki watched him go, and when he was sure he had gone, he let the memory of Thor finally break free, allowing a few salty tears to stream down his pale face.

_Enough, Loki. There is a time and a place for sentiment. But right now, you have the lives of these people in your hands. Concentrate._

Pulling the microphone back on, he turned his eyes to the cameras in front of him, feeling the anxious pulse of magic leap from one hand to the other as he steepled his fingers, nervously.

* * *

Logan had awoken that morning to find Laura still sleeping soundly—no surprise considering her late night—and Frigga offering her damp son a towel. He heard Frigga protest to Loki remaining in his sopping tunic but Loki asserted that he had responsibilities to take care of that would not allow for a moment's pause to sit and dry off or change. Minutes later, he was gone.

It didn't take Logan very long to get ready for the day. He changed into his fresh clothes—a dingy white tank top and a salvaged pair of denim jeans with holes in both knees. They weren't perfect but they were clean and the boots he pulled on didn't have holes in the soles. Running his fingers through his hair to straighten it out a little, he approached Frigga and gave her a small smile. "I appreciate your hospitality, Ms. Frigga. 'specially toward Laura."

Frigga smiled and handed Logan a cup of coffee—made from week-old coffee grounds because of the need to ration—but good to Logan nonetheless. He hadn't had coffee in six months. Chugging it down, quickly, he nodded his thanks and then picked up the small bag of tools that Fandral had given him. "Guess I'll be goin'. Don't let Laura sleep all day or be lazy. Put her to work if you need. She's a hard worker."

With that, he gave her another respectful nod and left in a hurry. During his long trek to the weapon workshop, he listened to the jangle of his tools clanking together in the leather bag where they rested and thought about where they were. Never in his centuries of life did he ever think he'd be trusting his life and the life of his kid to a man who had once attacked and destroyed the lives of so many.

But, then again, if he couldn't trust Loki, he might as well not trust himself. Or Laura. They had both committed atrocities because of their involvement with Weapon X. And they both had a lot to atone for. Logan believed he'd already started by being involved with Xavier's school. By taking Rogue under his wing. By killing Jean when he knew she wanted to be freed of the Phoenix (as difficult and painful as that was). By calling Laura his daughter when she had no one—convincing Ororo to allow her to attend the school despite her past.

Looking back on these things, Logan realized that his trusting Loki was like Ro trusting Laura. It was a leap of faith. It scared the hell out of Logan but he knew that it was sink or swim at this point—Loki's people would either help them survive or not. And he had no choice but to trust that. For now.

As he took careful steps down rusted metal stairs, twisted and turned through old, creaking scaffolds and found his way, confidently, to the workshop, he had to keep reminding himself of these things, placing his tools down at his work station and glancing at the gleaming supply of adamantium that sat, heavily, at his station.

Fandral was making his rounds when Logan arrived. The mutant noticed the way the Asgardian yawned and stretched, but drove forward with all the strength and ardor of a man on a mission. It was obvious he took his job very seriously and as he inspected a modified rifle that a dwarf was working on, he noticed Logan through the scope and murmured something to the worker with a smile before setting the weapon down as he tread to Logan's station.

"Good morning," he said, halfheartedly, looking down at the adamantium before he glanced up at Logan.

"Mornin', bub," replied the metal-boned mutant, picking up near-smoked through nub of a cigar out of plastic tupperware container and lighting it. He took a small puff and let out a satisfied sigh before setting the smoking nub down for the moment. "What's on the agenda today, boss?"

"We need to incorporate the adamantium into as many of the weapons as possible," Fandral replied. "My thinking is that if Captain Rogers' shield can deflect the might of Mjolnir, crafted by cosmic magic far beyond any human understanding, then perhaps it can deflect most, if not all, of the weapons the Chitauri carry, as well as shield from the blast of any photon weapon Thanos' generals might utilize."

"Sounds fair," Logan said, raising an eyebrow at Fandral. "But we ain't got much adamantium to go around, bub. Enough to make, maybe, a knife each. And that ain't gonna be much of a shield."

Fandral frowned. "That is true. However, I think I may have found a solution for that..."

Both eyebrows shut up this time and Logan smirked. "I'm all ears."

* * *

"Do you think that will work?"

Loki was sitting in front of the monitors, his green eyes moving back and forth between the door in and out of the warehouse, where he heard his men shuffle by every now and then, and the monitors where he found little activity was happening, and only one of the three squadrons he'd sent out had checked in.

It was about six hours into his watch that Fandral had dialed into his radio frequency from the weapons workshop to ask him about his idea for the adamantium supply. Loki was skeptical but intrigued nonetheless and if anyone could incorporate the impossible into their weaponry, it was Fandral.

"Very well. Do what you must," he murmured, just as his mother entered the room with a tray. He ended the transmission and turned toward her as she set the food down in front of him. He glanced at the tray, his stomach rumbling a little as the scent of coffee, bread, heated and sprinkled lightly with cinnamon and cured snipe meat filled his nostrils. It wasn't much—only what they could scrounge, hunt and keep fresh for long periods of time—but food was food and for someone who'd been sitting, silently, in front of a screen for six hours without eating, it was a welcome sight and scent.

"Hello, Mother," Loki murmured, taking a careful sip of the coffee. "Thank you for this."

"Of course, my dear," Frigga replied. "How are you? Have you dried off properly?"

Loki let out a low chuckle. "I am quite well, Mother. I do not need to be babied."

"Well, that is much too bad. You will always need to be babied by me because you will always be my baby," Frigga replied, firmly, before her expression saddened. "My only baby."

Loki nearly dropped his coffee cup at that, his own body falling limp at the thought, his fingers shaking around the handle. "Mother..." He set the cup down before he could break what little dishes the compound had.

He reached out, pulling her small form into his arms. It was always like this nowadays. One day, he would be a broken mess of a man who needed her mothering. The next, she would fall apart at the thought of all that they'd lost, and he had to take care of her. It was only in those rare moments when they had to act as rulers to their small underground city that they were both able to put on a face of strength.

Tightening his grip, he kissed his mother's hair and then released her, gently, looking into her eyes. "Perhaps you should go and visit Father. It might do your heart some good."

"As it did yours?" she asked.

Loki's face flushed with shame, and he slid back from her. "Forgive me, Mother."

"No. No, my son, forgive me. I should not throw such things in your face. You do so much for me and for these people and I-"

"Mother. _Mother._ _Stop._" Loki took her hand between his. "I am not angry at you. We both do_ much _for these people. We are both overly stressed. We have both...both lost so much. How can I be angry at you for such remarks when I demonstrate reactions much the same for many of the same reasons?"

Frigga offered him a sad smile. "You are a good man, Loki."

"No. I am not. I simply..." _I have red in my ledger. _"...have much to atone for. My childishness. My anger. Thor once called them _imagined sleights_. He was right. These people deserve so much more than me."

Frigga shook her head, and placed a delicate hand on the crown of his head. "You may believe that now, my child, but you're incorrect. I have said it so many times before and I say it now, Thor would be proud of the man you've become in his stead. You have done much to atone, and then some. Now, eat. I will leave you be."

She stood, pivoting so as to exit the way she came, only to become startled when the alarm began to sound on one of the four screens present on the monitor. She turned to look at her son, who gave her an expression of furrowed confusion before turning his attention to the touch-screen.

Lifting his hand, he pressed the monitor, just over the screen that was blinking, as the alarm began to sound throughout the underground complex. He dialed a code into the keypad which allowed the camera to zoom closer, closing in on the image, and revealing a figure, dressed all in white, and nearly impossible to spot, closing in on their north entrance.

Nearly impossible to spot, save for the shock of red curls that fell in waves over fur-covered shoulders.

Loki's green eyes narrowed and he leaned closer to the screen, analyzing the figure as it moved, slowly, over the landscape. It was a woman, though it was very hard to notice her curves under the white suit that blended into the surroundings. He watched her kneel when she found the trap door down into their compound with her boots, pushing her fingers against the metal under the snow, firmly, knocking as if to check if the sound beneath was hollow or not.

As he leaned in and examined the zoomed camera more carefully, watching how the woman moved, studying how she shifted, and finding himself mystified and enamored by the red curls, he felt a sudden shock of familiarity and his eyes widened, jumping to his feet. "It's...it's not possible."

Frigga watched him, pressing a hand to her heart in quiet shock when his disposition moved from cautious curiosity to nervous incredulity and anxiety.

"Loki, what?" she asked, taking careful steps toward him, reaching out a hand to him. He jerked from her touch however and approached the screen, pressing long fingers to the monitor. The motion caused Frigga to glance at the screen, at the woman and her red curls, and then back at her son, cautiously. "Who is it?"

Loki was silent for a long moment, his fingers brushing the screen as if it was something precious—yet something otherworldly. He turned, finally, to look at her and his expression read as if he'd seen a ghost, mouth agape, eyes wide with fear, confusion and unbelief.

He breathed only one word.

"Natasha."

* * *

"May the Lord our God be with us as He was with our fathers. May He not leave us nor forsake us." 1 Kings 8:57

Please review.


	7. Chapter 6

Who's excited to see Star Trek: Into Darkness? Yeah, me too. Also, thanks to all my reviewers so far. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I might own it if I were Mickey Mouse. Or Stan Lee. But I am neither. So I own nothing.

* * *

Chapter 6

* * *

"Natasha."

Loki was so flabbergasted that he almost couldn't move. He stood, frozen, watching the woman on the monitor as she opened the hatch and slid into the hole with all the lithe agility that he remembered she'd always possessed. But it was impossible.

It _couldn't_ be her.

She was _dead_.

_Are you sure...Loki...?_

Loki's eyes widened as he remembered the voice in his dream but shook his head. He was not a Seer or a prophet. He didn't dream _realities_ yet to come. And with a firm resignation, he determined that this woman was _not_ his Natasha and he would not be tricked. If Thanos was trying to shake him, he would _not_ be shaken.

Squaring his shoulders, he turned and stalked toward the door, moving past his mother, swiftly, and leaving the watch room and blowing through the compound with a quickness of step until he reached his room. With his own strength and agility, he grabbed his spear, and then turned with haste when Logan rushed into the room, anxiously.

"Laura," he choked, taking deep, gasping breaths; it was clear he'd been running. Loki could only assume the alarm had frightened him.

"She isn't here," Loki replied and then turned and carried his spear out. Logan followed him.

"What's with the spear, bub? What's goin' on?"

"I believe Thanos has infiltrated."

"_What_?"

"I cannot be certain it is him but whoever has arrived cannot be anything but ill-intentioned." He moved with determination through the compound toward the north entrance, ferocity and rage in his eyes. If some imposter was wearing Natasha's face, he would destroy them.

"How do you know for sure?" Logan growled, following him with swiftness, the soft 'chkt' of his claws shooting out as he matched his stride. As they approached—and many more men joined them from all ends of the compoud—they paused when they heard the echoed sounds of struggle, the grunts and groans of two strong females, brawling before a yell resounded, the sound of metal clanging against metal rang, the whistle of a photon gun being shot sang out and a long thud rippled through the compound to their ears.

Logan took a long whiff of the air and then, with wside eyes, he rushed anxiously up a flight of stairs to the scaffold where the north anxious ladder led and paused, suddenly, when he found Laura, with a photon wound healing on her shoulder, her claws out, breathing heavily.

She stood, triumphantly, over the unconscious body of the intruder, who's torso wounded with a shallow slash, barely bleeding, her head lulling sideways to reveal a small bump forming under red spirals where either Laura, or the floor, had clearly bested her.

As Loki approached, he paused, a lump rising in his throat when he saw the woman sprawled out on the ground. She _did_ look like Natasha. An almost exact replica. But he _knew_ she was dead. And he was going to get to the bottom of this imposter, by any means necessary.

He turned to two of his men—an elf and a burly human who had followed him, weapons in hand. He pointed to the unconscious body. "Take this woman to an empty cell. Make sure she is bound well." _If she _is_ Natasha,_ "Otherwise, she will most surely escape."

* * *

"Sire."

Thanos was seated on his throne, looking at a holo-screen that depicted a battalion of Chitauri slaughtering a drove of Mountain Giants—once proud Giants that dwelled in Jotunheim with their Frost and Forest cousins—yet had been relocated by the merge, and now dwelled in what once were the Rocky Mountains.

He lowered the screen when the Other approached. "What is it?"

"We have...a problem, my lord."

Thanos, who had continued to watch the screen as the Other spoke, suddenly snapped to attention. Pressing a button on the small tube which the screen was projecting from, the holographic projection fizzled away and Thanos stood. "What _problem_?"

"It...it appears, my _liege_, that we have lost communication with Natalia," the Other replied, keeping his head low in fearful reverence.

"_Meaning_?"

"She went offline, sire. We were tracking her vitals from the remnant of Muspelheim to the Jotun-Russian merger, but her heat signature dropped well below safe about two nights ago...and then all of her vitals went offline and has yet to return. We...we've lost her."

Thanos' eyes flared, rage boiling up in his burly purple form as he stood from his throne. "Do you _realize_ how much of an asset that woman was to me? The Asgardian swine who failed me was _in love_ with her. I could have used her to _draw him out_. I was simply biding my time and now, what time have I with no _bait_!"

Thanos' palace shuddered in his rage as the gems in the gauntlet glowed, maliciously. He lifted his hand to the Other, prepared to wipe him from existence. Then, taking a deep, calming breath, he smirked.

"Well, no matter. I suppose I'll just have to go to plan B." Lifting his hand, the palace shuddered again and the plexisteel wall panels began to shift and reform to reveal a large, dark room behind them—a hollow space, filled to capacity.

With rows and rows of containment chambers.

Thanos approached one, brushed the dust and fog from the glass and smirked at the face he witnessed within. He pressed the release button, a malignant smile stretching across his face as the satisfying hiss of the chamber door lock releasing and the door, slowly, sliding open.

The figure within opened gleaming blue eyes and looked at Thanos.

Thanos smile stretched into a demonic grin. "Yes. Plan B will do just fine."

* * *

"What were you thinking, L?" Logan growled, pacing back and forth in front of Laura, who sat, boredly, on the old, musty couch that sat, flat-cushioned and sad, in Loki and Frigga's room. She had a cup of tea grasped in her fingers and a blanket draped over her, and the dust and sweaty grime of a fight well fought still clung to her pale, unbruised flesh. She said nothing.

Logan sighed and crouched, putting himself eye-level with his daughter, looking her square in the eyes. "Look, kid. We're all each other's got left in this world. You may think your invincible, but we ain't. We can regenerate but that don't mean we can't be killed. You get me?"

Laura snorted with a shrug but still did not speak. Finally, she stood, letting the blankets slip from her shoulders and took a few short steps to the table. Quietly, she set her tea cup down and then turned, her blue meets meeting his. There were a few more long moments of silence and then:

"I get it. But I'm tired of being useless."

Logan's brow furrowed. "Whaddaya mean? You're not useless."

"_Yes_, I am. While you're off playing Tinker Tools with the adamantium, I'm stuck here, getting babied by a woman who _isn't ever going to be my mother_!"

"L, _shh_," Logan hissed. He wasn't sure where Frigga had gone but she had been the one making tea for them before she'd left, so she couldn't be far. "Have some respect, bub. These people are takin' care of us. It was damn good'a them to offer us a place to stay and a way to support ourselves."

"_Yourself_, Logan. _Yourself_. I haven't been doing _anything_!"

Loki had returned, briefly, at that point, to deposit his spear. He wanted to appear non-threatening to the prisoner, in case she had any vital information she was willing to impart on them. He did have his knives tucked away, just in case, but he found it was best to attract flies—even flies wearing spiders' faces—with honey and not vinegar.

As he arrived, he overheard the heated discussion developing between Logan and Laura and he paused in the shadow of the doorway, so as not to be seen, and listened.

"Can you blame me for wanting to _help_? Look, I get you're basically my dad—I guess—but I'm a damn adult and I don't want to just _sit_ here and be coddled! I want to_ help_! So...I did the only thing I know how to do, Logan. I did _what I'm good at_."

Loki frowned, sinking deeper into the shadows as Natasha's voice rang in his mind.

_I have a very specific skill set._

Logan sighed and pushed himself up from his crouched position, making his way to Laura and stopping just in front of her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and looked down into her avoiding gaze. "Sorry, kiddo. Guess we haven't been givin' you much of a chance to do anything but, huh? I been teachin' you you can do honest work to earn your keep 'stead of killin' and fightin' and yet here I am, not lettin' you do the one thing I'm teachin' you."

There was silence and Loki frowned, placing his spear, quietly, up against the wall in a corner. As he turned to leave, he heard Logan murmur:

"How can I expect you to change if I don't give you the opportunity? I'm sorry, kid."

Loki's shoulders slumped and he leaned, silently, against the door, pressing his forehead to the cool metal.

"_Why be kind to me? I tried to frighten you, to threaten you. I _insulted_ you in a way no woman ever should be. Why give me grace?"_

"_Because I got grace from SHIELD. They gave me a chance. And how can anyone expect you to change if someone doesn't give you a opportunity?"_

_Natasha._

Loki closed his eyes, squeezing them shut so tight, trying to erase the face of the imposter being held in the center of the mine from his mind, trying to ignore how exactly like his beautiful spider she looked. He had to interrogate this woman, to pull Thanos' secrets from her, without subjectivity. He _had_ to be strong for his people—for the compound.

Finally, in the darkness and the silence, as Logan pulled Laura into a hug, Loki departed, unsure how he would be able to look into a face he had fallen in love with and treat it as if he cared nothing for it at all.

* * *

Natalia wondered when she had lost her touch. In the last week or so, she'd passed out or been knocked out at least six times. She didn't remember the last time she'd been so easily bested, but she was almost positive it had something to do with the way her mind and heart had been acting since the odd faces and voices had begun to haunt her.

There was also something ethereally familiar about being tied to a chair, at that moment, in a dark, musty place.

She jingled the chains that twisted her arms behind the chair back and around each other, trying to yank herself free with no luck. Jerking her head to move the dark red tendrils, caked with dirt and sweat, from hanging in her face, she glanced down where her torso throbbed from the shallow wound inflicted by the mutant girl from before. The blood was dried and had already begun to clot, but it throbbed, deeply, and there was a small fear the wound might be infected.

Jingling the chains again, as if it would work better a second time—though unsurprised when it didn't—she sighed, and slumped forward a little, trying to block out the throbbing in her stomach and focus on concocting an escape plan.

Her eyes were cast down and closed when the door into the room—empty save for the woman and the single light dangling over her chair—was opened and a man in a ratty green tunic, black trousers, and worn leather boots that clacked against the hard metal floor beneath his heels. His long black hair, unslicked, unkempt, was pulled back into a tight ponytail, the band tied around it gleaming under the dim light.

Natalia glanced up only just in time to see the band glitter when the light hit it before the figure disappeared into the shadows that bordered the room. She narrowed blue eyes and searched the room, intensely, twisting her head in each direction as far as it would go. She could hear the click of his boots as he circled her, and the acute jingle of metal. Knives. Concealed beneath his tunic. Yet, somehow, her senses did not perceive him as a direct threat.

"I know you're there," she said, her voice suspicious and free of fear.

There was a low chuckle in the darkness, and a voice as smooth as melted chocolate—a voice she would know instantly and never again forget—murmured, "It was never my intention to conceal my presence."

The voice from her dreams. From her episodes. The green eyed man.

"Then why hide yourself in the shadows?" she asked, and suddenly, her voice shook with confusion and anxiety.

The circling ceased, she could tell, when the boot steps stopped, and there was a distinct gleam of green in the darkness. Eyes. _His _eyes. He was looking at her now.

Natalia swallowed down the lump that jumped up in her throat. It _was_ the same man. The man who haunted her more than any of the others. Who _was_ he? What did it _mean_ that he was real?

She shook these thoughts away and focused her blue gaze directly into his green one. "Come into the light."

He stepped into the light, revealing himself completely to her, adopting the posture of a prince—of a king. He held his head high, and looked at her with a steady, unwavering gaze. He could not let her see the way his hands threatened to shake, the way his eyes threatened to quiver, the way his heart threatened to jump into his throat and then sink like a stone into his stomach. He had to be firm. Turning his head, he smirked and then pivoted his body and began to pace a smaller circle around her chair. "Satisfied?"

She watched him as he circled, suspicion and curiosity painting her expression as he went. "Who _are_ you?"

The man barked out a laughed and stopped in front of her, one hand tucked behind his back in a tightly balled fist, the other swinging at his side. He turned his head to glance at her. "I would ask _you_ the same question."

"I asked you first."

The man laughed again. "The answer of a petulant child."

_Love is for children._

Natalia gasped and slammed her eyes shut at the sharp pain that shot through her head at the sound of her own voice in her mind, speaking words she'd never once spoken. And somehow she knew they were related to this man as well.

The man faltered, frowning. He took a step toward her as if to comfort her, allowing the instincts he would have enacted in this situation in the past to take hold. However, he paused in his step, remembering his responsibilities and who (he believed) this woman was. He cleared his throat and glanced off to the side and down, as if to compose himself and Natalia was able to glimpse the tale end of his tiny episode.

It stirred something inside her.

She shrugged it off. Painting her own smirk on, she murmured, "You want to know who I am? I am General Natalia of the grand battalion of Thanos. But I'm sure you already knew that."

The man's head snapped up at the name, as if something was switched on in his mind. He turned his entire body toward her and moved forward, studying her with an intensity in his green eyes that disturbed her, slightly.

However, despite her shaking breath, she continued, "And if I am where I think I am, then this is Laufeyson's underground city. Where his rebels hide, and from where he shuttles people off realm. And you must be one of his men."

The man said nothing, merely raised a thin eyebrow as if to entreat her to continue.

Natalia spat at his boots and hissed, "You tell your leader he's a fool for trying to defy Thanos. And when I get out of here, I'll kill him myself!"

There was a second low chuckle from the man before her. A deep, menacing (and if she hadn't known better, she'd think a little sad) chuckle before magic pulsed, steadily, from the figure, golden in color, causing him to phase out of view, disappearing from before her. She jumped, suddenly, when she felt hot breath on her ear, whispering: "I am Laufeyson," as golden colored power reappeared behind her, and the figure reemerged, the cool blade of a knife pressed into her back.

Natalia's eyes widened, and she closed her eyes, a silent gasp bubbling up from her throat as all of the dreams and images in which the green eyed man had appeared suddenly began to float into her mind again as Loki's name became present in every single one.

"And," she heard Loki begin, "it will be you, little _imposter_, who will die by my hands. And your death will be a warning to Thanos. He has tempted my fury by sending such an ill-suited, defiled, filthy doppleganger of one of my own into my presence. His time is coming, and your death will tell the tale of it."

The knife tip pressed firmer into her back as he spat the words into her ear, and the angry monologue caused a stir of something deep inside her—an anger, a sadness, a pain and an unexplainable betrayal—that her whole being snapped in a rage. Crying out, she swung her head back against his with a crack, causing him to stumble backwards a little. Tumbling forward, she was able to twist her hands from behind her to in front of her, freeing her arms from the chair but not from the chains. She noted that her feet were chained to the chair as Loki steadied himself. Using the twist of his body to fling his concealed blades, Natalia was able to throw her legs up to use the chair as a deflector shield.

Loki began to advance on her then, and so, Natalia pushed the strength of her person through the muscles of her back and legs, bending her body quickly to flip to her feet, the chair following her feets upward motion before coming down on Loki as her legs began to swing down. The metal chair burst into pieces against the hard body of the demi-god, freeing her feet just in time for her to land on them. She swung her body around to connect a kick against his face, but it was caught, immediately, by his hand—like an arrow from a bow, she thought, absently—and she was spun around onto the ground.

Flipping backwards, she pushed herself to her feet again and moved into an offensive position, her chained hands in front of her, fists balled.

"Imposter," she breathed, frantically. "Why?"

"What?"

"Why...why did you call me an imposter?" she hissed.

Loki furrowed his brow, dropping his guard a little when he noticed how frightened she appeared in her expression, despite her offensive, ready-to-fight posture. The word had shaken her. But why?

"Because," he said, finally. "You are."

* * *

"I'm not sure about this, bub," Logan said, pacing back and forth in front of Fandral's work station as the Asgardian tinkered and fiddled with the adamantium, melting it down, little by little, pinching eye-dropper weighted chemicals into the melted metal, stirring, folding and pouring.

A few feet away, Laura sat, watching Fandral work. She frowned. "No disrespect," she murmured, "but aren't you from a race that thinks and acts in an old world way? How do you know how to do this kind of science?"

"One hundred years of practice," Fandral replied, smirking at her. "And a little help from a few human chemists who floated in and out of the compound here or there. Before Loki sent them to safety. You can't imagine what kind of scientific minds we've had in here."

Finally, he finished, placing the mixture over a flame and watching it bubble. He checked the temperature after a moment, diminished the flame and looked at them. "Now, it is just a waiting game. After testing the chemical make-up of the metal, I do believe this mixture will work, but I can't be certain. We will simply have to see."

Logan looked at Laura and then crossed his arms over his chest, looking down at the still-boiling concoction. "How do we know it won't spontaneously combust or somethin'?"

"We do not."

"Oh, brilliant," mumbled Logan and then turned to look at his daughter, again. "L?"

"It'll work," she said.

Logan's eyebrows shot up. "What makes you so sure?"

"I'm not," Laura replied with a thoughtful frown. "But isn't hope one of the many things you wanted me to apply to my life?"

Fandral watched them, quietly, pulling off the goggles he'd been wearing during his work and setting them on his work station in silence.

Logan did not speak for a moment, mulling over Laura's words, before he nodded with a small smirk. "Yeah, kid. Hope, compassion, love. Good girl."

Laura nodded. "So, yeah...it'll work. It has to. Right?"

Logan looked at the slowly cooling concoction and nodded. "Right."

* * *

Remy was closing up the tavern for the night. With one final swipe of his dingy dish rag, he finished wiping down the shining dark surface of the bar, and shuffling the last of his patrons out before closing the door and locking it with a satisfying 'click'. Then, he turned and started to stack chairs atop tables, silently, thinking about the events of the past few days.

First, Logan and then Thanos' general...

He felt a small twinge of guilt for having sent that woman in Laufeyson's direction. At the same time, he also couldn't shake Logan's words about Laufeyson's red-head from his mind.

Was it just a coincidence that the general _was_ a red-head? A red-head who, if he remembered right (and he'd only seen her, briefly, once or twice), kind of resembled one of the Avengers?

An uneasiness grew in his heart as he began to put the pieces together. Thanos' stasis chambers...the familiar red-head... Laufeyson's Avenger friend...

It made sense. If Thanos could keep him...and Rogue...if he could sustain their lives, use them for his own gain...why not others?

But...how _many_ others?

He needed to warn them. He needed to warn Laufeyson. He needed to warn Logan. He needed to tell them who he believed the woman to be—to help her remember for herself. He set the chair down and turned, rushing to the door. As he passed the bar, he grabbed his deck of cards and then swept his trench coat off of the coat hook near the door.

As he reached for the lock, however, he heard the roar of thunder outside and a flash of lightning cracked past his window.

That was _not_ normal in the remnant of Muspelheim. Fire and magma, yes. But thunder? Lightning? That was unusual. And frightening.

Suddenly, the lightning cracked against the tavern's door, blowing it off of its hinges and throwing him back against one of the tables. He fell to the floor, cards scattered about the floor, a groan bubbling up from his throat and he steadied himself from his place on the floor and shook the blurred dizziness from his eyes.

There was a heavy footfall as the silhouette of a figure appeared in the splintered doorway. Remy narrowed his eyes, trying to distinguish who the intruder was.

The lightning flashed again, lighting up the face of his assailant, empty blue eyes baring into Remy, intensely.

Remy's eyes widened. "It can't be...it's...it's ya...!"

The figure's arm swung around, and before Remy could voice his anger or fear, he was struck and darkness overtook him.

* * *

"I'm not," Natalia said in response to Loki's accusation. "I'm _not_ an imposter. I am who I am. I am a general of Thanos...my name is Natalia and I...I..."

Loki's fingers curled around a few small knives in his tunic and he watched her, carefully, intensely, his green eyes following her every movement as she circled him, never leaving his defensive-offensive stance. However, he could tell her resolve was faltering as she glanced at him and at the walls, and at the floor, as if searching physically with her eyes as she searched her mind for answers.

"...I don't know why it hurts me...I don't know why it _angers _me to hear _you_ call me that. Why should I care what _you_, a traitor of Thanos' regime, think about me? Why..._why_ does it bother me that _you_ look down on me, Laufeyson? _Why_?"

_Natasha..._

_Look at me._

_It's _me_. _

_Stop trying to find your answers in the walls and the floor._

_Look into my eyes, Natasha._

_I've longed for you._

_**Look at me**__._

Natalia's head snapped up and she looked at Loki. Shining blue met calculating green, and she gasped at the sharp stab of pain that plunged through her head, and images flooded her mind, jumbling and unintelligible, but important. She knew they were important. The pain caused her to stumble and lose her balance, her body tumbling to the floor.

With the speed and agility he was always known for, Loki threw himself forward, skidding beneath her and catching her in his firm grip.

Natalia's head snapped back, lulling against his wrist as her blue eyes searched his face. In a small, pained whisper, she murmured, "Loki."

Something inside him crumbled—something he thought he had in check—and he whispered something as if on instinct:

"Natasha."

Her eyes widened, and tears sprang immediately from the orbs, trickling down her face in wet, transparent streaks.

"That name..." she breathed.

"You're crying."

Natalia touched her cheek and then sprang from his arms in an instant. She had not even realized that the tears had begun but she knew that whatever was happening at this moment was dangerous and she immediately squared her body back into a fighting stance, and allowed a suspicious, angry expression to paint her face, her eyebrows turned into a 'v' of distrust.

Loki stood, carefully. "Calm yourself. I will not harm you from here on."

"W-Why not?" she hissed.

Loki was silent for a long moment, thoughtful, interrogating his own psyche, trying to understand 'why not' himself. It was then that Loki realized that his steadfast belief that this woman was _not_ Natasha had wavered, deeply. Her response to the name...the way she'd said his...her own confusion...they all dropped a suspicious cloud over the assumption that this woman was an imposter. It made him question her true identity.

Which frightened and angered him beyond belief. Because if Natasha was alive—and this was she—then not only had she somehow been kept alive beyond her years, but her memories had also, unknowingly, been ripped from her. Erased.

And that meant, in Loki's mind, that Thanos had much more than realms of genocide to answer for.

He looked at the woman who called herself Natalia, and then reached out a hand to her, his eyes locked on hers.

"Just trust me."

And as she slowly dropped her fighting stance and placed a hesitant hand in his, he wondered...

How much did he trust himself?

* * *

"Therefore, having been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ." Romans 5:1

Please review.


	8. Chapter 7

Everytime I watch Thor, I get feels. So many feels. My poor, poor Loki.

That's why I write fanfiction!

Disclaimer: Maybe if I had Loki's silver tongue, I could convince the world I owned this. But I don't. On either count.

* * *

Chapter 7

* * *

"Are you certain about this, sire?"

Loki lifted his head from the cool metal of the table where he'd let his forehead sit. A splitting headache throbbed within his skull, coursing all the way down his neck and back. There were deep shadows under his green eyes and it was clear that he hadn't slept in three or four days—since the day the woman had arrived.

"Certain about what, Heimdall?" he asked, standing, arching his back to try and loosen some of the tension which had twisted itself around and through his entire spinal chord.

The dark-skinned Seer watched as his prince moved sluggishly around the small space, pulling rations down from shelves, pouring four-day old, cold coffee into a mug and fixing himself a meager, bland meal. When the young Asgardian finally sat down to eat, he found he could not, and he pushed the food away, scoffing, silently, his head turned toward the wall.

"No," he said, finally. "I do not know if I am certain about it. But she is..."

"_Not_ who you think she is, my prince. She has been under the influence of Thanos. Even if she were the Avenger woman, she-"

"_Silence_," Loki hissed, and Heimdall pursed his lips, his emotions somewhere between amused and irritated at how very like his father he sounded.

"My prince, since she arrived, you have not slept. Your mother tells me you search tirelessly through the volumes we have collected since the merge...the journals these people have kept...as if looking for something you'll likely never find. What do you search for, my prince?"

Loki narrowed his eyes, the green irises burning a proverbial hole in the wall he gazed upon. His face was intense and thoughtful, a twisting, pensive pool full of confusion. Finally, he turned his face, filled with fearful curiosity and quiet cautiousness, to Heimdall.

"Heimdall...you have been overseeing these realms for much of your life..." he murmured, taking a sip of his coffee (and cringing at its cold staleness). He placed the cup down and leaned forward, brushing his palm against his face with exasperation.

"I have," Heimdall replied, watching the weary prince with sympathetic eyes, gleaming ethereally in the darkness of the chamber.

"Have you ever..." Loki began, and then gave a bitter chuckle, knowing the answer before the question was even asked. Still, he pressed on, "...witnessed anything that could...sustain the life of someone who's existence had a limit...that could...suspend the bounds of mortality?"

"You look for evidence, then?" Heimdall questioned. "Evidence to suggest that woman could be Natasha Romanoff...even a century later."

Loki bared his teeth and let out a hiss of breath, standing. His fist came down hard on the table near him, and he turned to look at the man. "Do not speak to me in that tone of voice, Heimdall...as if you think me mad for even suggesting it. It _is_ possible, isn't it? Thanos utilized the reality gem to destroy our home and the homes of so many. He bent time and space—the realms themselves! What makes you so sure he could not enact such a feat as this?"

"You are in love with her."

"_Of course I am_!" Loki barked, pushing the coffee cup from the table, watching it sail across the room and smash against the wall. Stalking across the chamber, he sunk down onto the couch, defeated, letting his head lull against the couch back, his eyes gazing up at the ceiling. "I have been for some time now. And every moment that isn't filled with strategizing our survival, or with guilt toward my father and brother, is spent regretfully thinking about her and why I didn't...just tell her when I had the chance."

Heimdall moved around the table and followed Loki's steps to the couch, pausing in front of the Asgardian prince and gazing down at him. "Then, you must think, my prince, as your father and brother did."

"And how, pray tell, was that?" spat the Trickster, sounding very much like his old, childish self.

"You must ask yourself...is it wise to put all those you swore to protect in danger...for a woman who may be the one you loved...or may be your one and only undoing."

With that, Heimdall said no more, but turned and left Loki, sitting in the darkness, contemplating his words, the ugly stain of doubt rising in his heart.

* * *

Natalia felt strange in the black jumpsuit. Her fingers roved the supple, worn leather, pressing against the wristbands around her wrists, playing with and poking at the many belts around her waist, and the small, red-and-silver metal buckle that held them together. It all felt so familiar to her and yet, it was foreign and strange.

Turning, she evaluated the room she'd been given—a dark near-duplicate of her room at Thanos' compound, housing only a bed and bedside table, as well as a bathroom area and a dingy mirror.

She found her reflection in the mirror for the first time since changing and gasped, her eyes widening and the pin-prick of tears springing to the corners. She touched her body, once again, in the jumpsuit, with one hand, the other going up to the loose curls of red on her head, as if she were rediscovering herself for the first time. There was something...something in the back of her mind...something out of her reach...

"Is it to your liking?"

She jumped and turned, moist blue orbs settling on Loki as stood in her doorway, too much a gentleman to enter without her permission. She blushed and blinked back the tears, clearing the lump in her throat and shrugging. "It's adequate, I guess."

"And...the clothing?"

"It isn't much different from what I had on before," she replied with a slight scoff, adjusting her wristbands a little. "It even fits me perfectly." She slid her eyes to him, glancing at him out of the corners. "Why does it fit me perfectly?"

Loki was quiet, a dark cloud appearing in his expression. There was an pregnant silence between them for a long moment before he gave a small cough and straightened his tunic. "Ahm, well, shall I show you arou-"

"Laufeyson," Natalia interrupted, firmly, turning and placing herself in front of him with a fierce directness. "Don't mistake me for someone who cares about you and your cause. I was sent here for a purpose. I'm _still_ Thanos' general. But there are some...inconsistencies in my existence that I was told you and your traitors could help me fix."

Loki pursed his lips, his brow furrowing, darkly. No words passed from his lips.

"So," she continued, "as soon as I figure out what's going on in my head, I'm going to resume my job. I _will_ bring you in. Or I _will_ kill you. Whichever comes first."

_Is it wise to put all those you swore to protect in danger...for a woman who may be the one you loved...or may be your one and only undoing?_

Heimdall's words rang true and clear in Loki's mind, and he clenched his jaw, the muscles in his neck tensing as he did. He looked Natalia up and down and tried to remember Natasha as she was, but perhaps he had done the wrong thing. The wrong thing keeping her SHIELD uniform...the wrong thing keeping hope alive, even in the smallest fraction...

The wrong thing by taking the beautifully identical face of this woman into his safe-haven...and into his heart.

Letting out a breathy growl, he turned to leave, but was paused by a hand on his wrist.

His head snapped to the side, his profile meeting the full-frontal view of the woman's face, her eyes searching his.

"Why does it bug you so much?" she asked, her voice low—a quiet murmur of sound.

"That is none of your concern." _Imposter._ With that, Loki tugged his wrist from her arm and started down the long scaffold that led from her room to an upward staircase. He stopped in his stride, however, and turned, his eyes hard as he looked at her. "Whatever you search for, you had better find it quickly. And if you think I will fall or follow easily, you are sorely mistaken." His eyes gleamed with malice. "Enjoy your stay."

With that, he started up the stairs, and out of her sight.

* * *

Loki entered Fandral's workshop, fuming. As he stormed through the room toward Fandral's workshop, the workers practically dove out of his way, sensing the metaphorical steam that rose from him, as if the Frost Giant in him were melting away from the sheer heat of his anger.

Fandral nearly didn't recognize him when he approached, allowing himself a double-take when the furious prince paused in front of his work station.

"You summoned me?" Loki barked and Fandral jumped a little.

"Um, yes. Are...are you alright?"

Loki's fierce green eyes snapped to Fandral, immediately, as if to suggest that he shouldn't ask that question at the moment.

Swallowing down his discomfort, Fandral cleared his throat. "Nevermind. Well...ah! Logan, Laura, you're here."

Just behind Loki, Logan and Laura appeared, striding down the main aisle between the rows and rows of work stations and stopping when they reached Fandral and Loki.

"Perfect," Fandral said, though his gaze continued to twist to Loki to check if the Trickster's tense expression has changed.

It hadn't.

"So, the three of us have been working with the adamantium, Loki," Fandral began. "And we think we have figured out how we can utilize it to its highest potential."

Loki was staring at Fandral's station table, intensely—through it, more accurately—his arms crossed, firmly, the tense flex of his muscles denoting his furious attitude. However, Fandral's statement caused him to turn his eyes up, a single thin, black eyebrow shooting up. "Have you?"

Fandral, upon seeing the demeanor of his leader calm a little, let a smirk stretch across his face. Picking up a beaker nearby, filled with something heavy and silver, he presented it to Loki.

Loki plucked the glass container from Fandral's fingers and examined it, his brow furrowing deeply. He turned a curious gaze onto the blonde man. "What is it?"

"Adamantium, my prince."

Loki's expression darkened. "Well, _obviously_, Fandral."

Fandral's face flushed with indignance and embarrassment and he took a deep breath to keep from snapping at the man who, for reasons unknown, was beginning to revert to the little _snot_ that he had so detested before.

Logan lit a cigar on a Bunsen burner near by and decided to help Fandral out a little. "It's adamantium we cultivated. We grew it, basically. Or...manufactured it. Whatever, bub."

Loki's furrowed expression lingered for a moment, his sharp jaw clenching and unclenching as if he was unsure, before something dawned on him. He looked at the beaker and then at Fandral. "You...made this?"

"Yes. Utilizing a piece of the adamantium store that Logan and Laura brought, I was able to extract the chemical make-up from the metal and create more," Fandral replied. "It was very complex, and it failed the first few times, but I believe I finally perfected the formula. Loki, we can _create_ adamantium for weapons...shields...whatever we need to overcome Thanos' forces."

There was a heavy silence over the group of them, and then Loki set the beaker down and took a few steps deeper into the workshop. He paused, contemplated, his back to them, slim fingers settled carefully on his taper waist. Then, he turned and looked at Fandral, a tricky smirk playing on his face.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen," he finally said, "let's get to work."

* * *

Remy awoke with a splitting headache. His whole body throbbed, from skull to sole, and he groaned, letting his head lull forward. He was acutely aware of two things when he awoke: he was tied to a chair and he was alone.

At least, for the first few moments. There was the definite sound of a metal door sliding open nearby, the flooding of white light from outside, that hit him and then a silhouette sauntered in. It was a woman, he could tell for sure, in a white jumpsuit, with a pistol strapped to her thigh.

"General Natalia?" Remy mumbled, squinting at the light that flooded through the tiny threshold, before the door slid close with a hiss and a slam and they were left in darkness again. Suddenly, a low spotlight spilled down onto Remy where he sat, causing a dim glow to crop up around him. He heard the clacking of heels against a metal floor and then they stopped.

"Wrong, sugar."

He knew that voice. No. _No_.

The woman stepped into the light, her long, straight brown locks spilling in a cascade down her back and shoulders as she tucked one long, thick strand of white behind her ear.

Remy felt defeated, his shoulders slumping. "Rogue," he breathed.

The woman smirked and murmured, "Lord Thanos said you might call me that. But honestly, hun, I ain't go no idea who that is. My name is Anna and I'm here at the request of my sire. To get some information outta ya. So we can do this the easy way, or the hard way."

Reaching around, she made it seem as if she were going to take up her thigh pistol but instead, she pulled one of her white, leather gloves off and turned to him. Pale, unblemished flesh was revealed and she reached out to him, her fingers hovering over the slightly darker skin of his face.

"That won't work on me, cher. Y'know that," Remy replied, his red-on-black eyes looking up into her gleaming hazel ones. "Rogue."

'Anna' let out a small growl at the name and then retracted her hand, smirking. She paced back and forth in front of him, her heels clicking with menace against the floor beneath them, before she reached for her pistol and pulled it out. "Yes. The Other informed me of your powers, honey. So, I came with a little insurance."

"Y'photon pistol don' scare me, cher. Been hit wit' worse," he replied, turning his head from her, dark brown hair falling into his eyes.

"This isn't a photon pistol."

Remy's head snapped around to look at her just as a dart sunk into his neck, causing him to gag and choke.

Anna smirked. "It's a power inhibitor."

Then, she reached out for him again with her hand, her fingertips hovering just inches from his forehead, and she smirked.

And no matter how Remy tried to call up his kinetic energy, he couldn't.

"Now then," Anna murmured, her face inches from him, "_where_ did you send General Natalia?"

* * *

Natalia was not allowed to wander anywhere alone. A guard, weighed down by weapons, was near her at all times, leading her to areas she was designated to be in—the mess hall, the bathrooms, the general common area where stacks and stacks of books and journals lay—and steering her away from ones that they didn't trust her around.

It wasn't hard, however, to use agility of movement against a guard who's gait was heavy and slow due to his weapons, and when she had glanced, quietly, into the buzzing workshop one day, it was easy to return that night, when it was empty, and take out the guard that had been protecting the door.

She picked up his key-card and slid it through the card reader. The reader beeped, and then buzzed and lit up red. The door would not open. Obviously, this man did not have the clearance to get into the workshop.

"Well, then," Natalia whispered and crouched. Ripping the cover off the card-reader, she began to rewire the systems and smirked when the reader beeped twice, lit up green and allowed the door to unlock. She pushed the door open and crept inside.

As she moved through the shop, picking up and examining the weapons and tech that was scattered from station to station, she took mental notes of how each piece was built and how it worked. She did this for a good ten minutes before she found herself near the back of the shop and paused.

There, gleaming at an empty work station, was a store of adamantium like this world had not seen in over a century. She had been told stories about the impossible metal—about its strength and rarity. How had Laufeyson's men gotten so much of it?

Then, she remembered. The child who had bested her. The child with metal claws. _Adamantium_ claws. Had she brought it? As she shuffled through tools and paperwork scattered across the station, she furrowed her brow, eyes curious as she picked up a small scrap of parchment. Written across it in a languid scroll was a formula and suddenly, it dawned on her. It was a formula to _make_ adamantium.

_This could be just the advantage Lord Thanos needs to stop these rebels..._

Quickly, she scribbled the formula down on a spare scrap of paper and folded it into a small square, tucking it into her bosom. When that was finished, she glanced around and then reached out to pick up a small lump of the metal...

...when she felt the cool prick of metal against the back of her neck and she tensed, standing up completely straight and allowing her blue eyes to slide to the side, attempting to see who her captor was. She lifted her hands in surrender.

"Not many people can sneak up on me," she said, and jumped a little when her assailant began to laugh, a low, hearty sound—a sound so full of amusement that she was unsure exactly what she'd said that was so funny.

The blade left her neck, and was lowered back down her attackers side and when she turned, she was met with the gleam of pale skin in the darkness, and the intense glitter of amused green eyes examining her with a smirk.

Natalia narrowed her eyes at the Trickster, who seemed to appear from thin air wherever she was concerned. What a nuisance. "What's so funny?"

The amused green eyes shined with a kind of knowing gleam and then Loki shook his head. "Nothing." Then, his expression darkened and he spun the spear at his side with the ease of a man trained with a spear, circling her as he did. "Now, then...how did you get in here?"

Natalia's eyebrow twitched, haughtily, as she twisted her head on her neck to watch the circling man. Her lip twitched into a small grin. "It should be obvious."

"Ah, yes. The unconscious guard outside. The reprogrammed, rewired security lock," Loki replied, bowing his head with a smirk. "You have always been quite apt at such endeavors, Natasha."

"Don't call me that," she barked.

He let a bitter chuckle bubble from his throat. "My apologies, _Agent Romanoff_."

"_Stop._"

"Or what?" Loki asked, moving in closer to her, his body mere inches from hers.

Natalia moved to slide back from him, but his free hand grabbed her arm, hard and pulled her against him.

Her eyes widened, shocked by the strength of a man who looked so slim and angular—not exactly muscled. She tensed and flexed her muscles, trying to wrench her arm from his grip, but it did not budge.

Loki looked down into her eyes, and suddenly, the woman froze, paused in her struggling and watched him. She couldn't understand how his eyes could call upon such emotions in her—fear, anxiety...and excitement. She didn't get how his glowing green orbs poured the voices and faces out into her mind, calling them forth with each blink of round, cunning emerald.

Or how they caused her heart to beat so fast, as he leaned in closer, lips above lips, hovering, warm breath brushing across the smooth, flushed flesh of her face.

Without thinking, she let her eyes slide closed and leaned into him, as if to accept the kiss she believed he was offering...

...only to feel his hand within her bosom and the slide of paper against her skin. Her eyes snapped open and looked at him as he waved the scrap with the adamantium formula before her face before releasing her and taking a step back.

"You look a little disappointed," Loki murmured, tucking the scrap into his tunic with a triumphant expression.

"You—you—!"

"What?" Loki asked, the expression morphing into something dark and ugly—eyes full of loathing, sadness and angry confusion. "Did you really believe that I would kiss _you_? A _reflection_ of a secondary nature? A half-formed _doppleganger?_ "

Natalia's whole body shuddered with anger, eyes growing wide as dinner plates, as the man turned to leave. She rushed him, grabbing the back of his tunic. "I told you, I'm not a—!"

His head snapped around his neck, a lonely green eye baring into her with the intensity of a man in love—lost and murdered love. "You wear the face of Natasha Romanoff. Yet, you act in accordance with Thanos. Against every ideal that Natasha Romanoff built into her life, into her skills, into her job when SHIELD saved her from a certain death. When _Clint Barton_ made a 'different call'. What else should I believe you to be?"

"_I got on SHIELD's radar in a bad way."_

…

_"Barton was sent to kill me. He made a different call."_

…

Natalia shuddered again, this time with shaking dizziness as she stumbled backwards, releasing her grip on Loki's garment. She cupped her forehead in her fingers, eyes cast downward, before they snapped up to look at him, glaring darkly at him. "How do you do that? Call up these...pictures of things I don't remember ever doing...or saying? I just...don't understand."

She pressed her palms into her eyes, as if trying to push the images away, straight through her eye-sockets.

Loki's demeanor softened and he watched her as she rubbed at her eyes, trying to wipe her mind's eye clean, and pushed her fingers, nervously, through her hair, glancing around with such confusion and irritation on her face, a desperation painted in her expression.

He turned and stepped to her for a second time, and placed a delicate hand on her shoulder. Leaning in, he let his lips hover near her ear. In almost exact repetition of her very first statement, he murmured, in his deep voice, lilted with an accent, "There's not many people that can sneak up on me."

Natalia's eyes widened. "But you figured I would come," she replied, as if it were the most natural response in the world.

Loki slid far enough to way to meet her eyes with his, a sad smile suddenly spread across his face. He was quiet for a moment, then, he turned and started out of the workshop, murmuring, "After. After whatever horrors Fury could concoct, you would appear as a friend...as a balm. And I would cooperate."

With that, he disappeared out of the shop, leaving before the woman could see the tears that sprung to his emerald irises.

Natalia watched him go, her heart beating with the speed of a hummingbird's wings, as she listened to him speak. In her head, she saw herself, reflected in the glass of a prison cell, and him, grinning and posturing, as he spoke to her. This was the clearest of any of the other images she'd seen over the past few weeks. And that's when she realized, for certain...

These were memories.

She glanced down, full of fear and confusion, anxiety, excitement, shame, resentment. Who was she? _What_ was she? What had Thanos done to her? And why?

It was then, she noticed, on the floor, the scrap of paper that Loki had extracted from her bosom. He had left it behind. Purposely.

She kneeled, picking it up with shaking fingers, and looked at the numbers and letters scrolled across it. She stared at it for a long, incredulous moment, before she lifted her head to follow the path that the demi-god, just moments before, had taken to leave.

In a breathy voice, still full of disbelieving, unsure desperation, she whispered:

"Thank you for your cooperation."

* * *

"And do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind." Romans 12:2

Please review.


	9. Chapter 8

So, what does a wayward Loki fangirl do when extenuating circumstances keep her from going to bed? Write.

I wanna say thanks to all my reviewers so far, also. You guys are amazing. God bless you all.

Also, go see Star Trek Into Darkness. It's _beautiful_. I'm pretty sure a crossover is going to somehow spill out of my head eventually. I cross everything over with Avengers. #giftandcurse

Disclaimer: I yawn, I write, I post...but I do not own.

* * *

Chapter 8

* * *

"Sire, if we do not retrieve the Black Widow, her memories will return. She will rebel."

The Other was sitting at one end of a long, oval table, filled with Chitauri and non-Chitauri generals—including the newly promoted "Anna" and the mysteriously silent blue-eyed figure—while Thanos, himself, sat at the other, muscles flexing tensely under taut purple flesh, his square jaw clenching as he glanced from one end of the room to the other, thoughtfully.

Slamming a fist down onto the table, finally, he replied, "It does not matter if Laufeyson gathers one or one hundred more allies to his cause. We have hundreds of _thousands_ just like her housed in this compound. If we could but _find_ him, we could end him and his masses." His eyes snapped to Anna. "What is LeBeau telling you?"

"Nothin', virtually," Anna's thick southern drawl responded. "No matter how much I sap up his powers, suck him dry, and sink photons inta his knees, he ain't budgin'. I dunno what he's tryin' to protect, but he's a tough nut to crack."

Thanos ethereal eyes narrowed and he stood, walking around the table until he reached Anna's chair. He paused, just behind her, his large shadow casted over her slighter form, his bulky hands resting, intimidatingly, on her shoulders. Then, he squeezed, causing her to choke out a gasp, as he murmured, "Then, _try harder_."

"Y-Yes...s-sire...!" she gasped and reached out to grab her shoulder when the answer caused him to release her. Hairline fractures spider-webbed across her bones, she was sure.

Thanos circled the table, burly fingers tucked into one another behind his back. He let his eyes drift from one general to the other, his voice firm, malicious and cruel. "You are my elite. The best of the best. _You_ are the ones I rely on to keep the death toll on this pitiful world high...to feed the hungry beauty of my Lady. I will_ not_ tolerate failure any longer, ladies and gentlemen. That _damned_ Loki Laufeyson can _no longer_ be a threat to our cause."

His eyes shot to the silent figure, and he noticed the blue-eyes flicker with uncertainty, then fall blank again.

"So, I will no longer accept 'try'. You will either _succeed_ or I will sacrifice _you_ to my Lady Death, are we clear? This world belongs to _her_ and she will get what she deserves, one way or another."

They all watched him, silently, as he stopped in his stride, near his own chair at the head of the table, his thick back turned toward them. Then, he swiveled on his heel and looked at them with menacing eyes.

"Dismissed."

* * *

"Hello, my dear."

Natalia sat upon her cot, silently examining the yellowing strip of parchment unfurled between her fingers. The adamantium formula was written in her quick, scratchy scroll across the paper, but that wasn't really what she was studying. No. Her mind was trying to find the answer for Laufeyson's actions within the inanimate sheet—for his words.

For her memories, just out of reach.

She glanced up at the sound of the voice in her doorway, a few wet, mussed scarlet trusses hanging in puzzled blue eyes.

Frigga smiled, sympathetically, at the look of bewilderment on the woman's eyes as she stood in Natalia's threshold. "May I come in?" She was holding a pot of tea, and a few cracked, porcelain mugs.

Natalia was silent, and she gave a defeated shrug as she set the tiny strip aside and waved her inside. She was no longer wearing the bodysuit, but sat, fresh from a (cold) bath in a loose, frayed black tunic, tied off loosely with a red sash, and a pair of baggy, torn jeans. Her feet were bare, one tucked over the other as if trying to warm them.

Frigga stepped in and set the pot and cups down on the small, wooden bedside table, glancing only briefly at the strip of paper, before sitting on the bed next to the perturbed woman. She placed her motherly hands over Natalia's shaking ones.

"Calm yourself, child. My son told me you were shaken when he departed from you."

Natalia's eyes snapped up to look at the older woman, and her brow furrowed. She ripped her hands from Frigga's and stood, fingers moving to her forehead, massaging where a perpetual headache constantly lingered, a haunting presence of memories long lost.

"Your _son_ has no right to be sending his mommy to deal with his issues," spat the redhead, before her body snapped around and she glared at Frigga. "Whatever he did to me...those things that he said...they _did_ something in my head. And now I can't get images of him out of my head. Him, and so many others. And they _all_ have names now. Tony, Steve, Bruce...and one more...one more who's face I can't remember. Clint Barton. All I remember is...eyes...distant blue eyes and a handful of arrows. What does that kind of thing even _mean_?"

Frigga frowned. "Sit down, child. You will run yourself ragged in such a state. Loki did not send me. I came of my own accord."

Natalia ceased in her actions and looked at Frigga. "What?"

"You heard me, dear."

The younger woman shook her head, and murmured, "...why?"

Frigga smiled, her expression a mixture of sadness and understanding. "Oh, my dear...it isn't my place to tell you that. It is something you will have to remember on your own."

Natalia wanted to scream, but the gentle calmness of Frigga's voice soothed her—comforted her in her confusion—and she sunk back onto the cot, quietly.

"It's locked up... in my memories, isn't it?" Natalia asked, and then, in addition: "My _real_ memories."

Frigga poured them each a cup of tea and handed one to the woman, the steam wafting up from the cup and hitting Natalia's face, cool from her bath, and soothing the chilled skin. The older woman offered an understanding smile.

"Every person has layers—pieces of themselves that fit together like the perfect curves of a puzzle. Your puzzle has simply been disassembled, child. You must try to place the pieces back where they go. You may find your answers then," Frigga replied.

_Linger there, among faces and voices familiar...and your answers you may yet find..._

The Jotun woman had said something similar. Natalia glanced away. Her hands shook around the warm cup of tea.

"Natasha," Frigga said.

"_That's _not my name," Natalia breathed, anxiously, as a succession of nervous actions followed, her hand flying up to her suddenly throbbing forehead, the cup of tea falling with a clatter to the rusted metal floor, spilling hot liquid across the coppery red surface.

Frigga took the massaging fingers between her hands and held them, warmly, before allowing one hand to turn the woman's chin up, forcing her to look into her eyes. "Let me ask you, dear...are you certain?"

"What is it with you and your son?" Natalia asked, leaping back from the all-too-kindly touches, the motherly gestures. "Why are both _so _convinced I'm this _Natasha Romanoff—_this...this..._Black Widow_!"

Frigga stood, tall and proud, as much the queen of Asgard as she'd always been. A knowing smile—a smile which said she and Loki had spoken in an extensive manner of correspondance between himself and this woman—spread across her face as she folded long, regal fingers together in front of her.

"Neither I nor my son ever called you the Black Widow."

Natalia's eyes shot open, wide as cup saucers, gleaming a dark, fearful blue. She was right. Loki had always ever called her _Natasha _or _Romanoff_. And now, Frigga had just called her _Natasha_. Never had the term Black Widow ever been uttered.

The term had come from within. It had come from the deep recesses of her mind.

Turning from the woman, her shoulders slumped suddenly, and she cupped her hands over her nose and mouth, her back shuddering, suddenly. She was trying to fight back the tears, the anger, the fear, but they came spilling down her face like rivers of regret and confusion. Who was she? _What_ was she? And why couldn't she remember fully? Were they right? Or was this a cruel joke? All of these questions tormented her and she choked on silent sobs, shoulder blades racking.

Frigga approached her, gently, and placed a soft hand on her shoulder, turning her with careful calmness. She looked, softly, into the woman's eyes, taking her hands and moving them from her face with a mother's gentleness. "Now, now," she said, wiping away the woman's tears. "Enough of that. Remembering who you are is nothing to cry over. It may be a painful process now...but it will be worth it in the end. I promise you that."

"And how can I be sure this isn't just a trick you all are employing to try and leave Thanos one general short?" replied the woman, a trace of uncertainty in her suspicious accusation.

"My son and I have many gifts, dear," Frigga replied. "But planting information in someone's head non-verbally is not one of them. In fact, my son excels, primarily, at verbal manipulation. He has yet to master non-verbal. That name came not from us...and thus, you cannot say we were responsible."

She slid back from Natalia and retrieved the tea cup from the floor, placing it on the bedside and pouring a fresh cup. Then, she picked up the pot and her own cup and started for the door, her back to Natalia as she spoke. "Now, then, if you feel more comfortable with us referring to you as Natalia for now, we will respect that. In fact, I will personally see to it that Loki does. However..."

She twisted, gently, at the waist to look at her with a smile. "...you cannot run from who you truly are, forever."

Then, in one tall, sweeping motion, she departed, and Natalia watched her go, before turning to gaze upon the steam rising from her mug, her mind a million miles away.

* * *

"We need to double our patrols."

Hundreds of thousands of heads turned eyes of different colors, shapes and species toward the make-shift stage—built of creaking, rotting wood, a few slabs and poles of rusted metal and a few stripped screws—where Loki paced back and forth, his spear gripped firmly in his hands. He had to appear strong—as a leader would.

The population of the underground city had been gathered in the largest room connected to the hundreds of tunnels, the room that the city's leadership had decided from the beginning would be where city-wide meetings would be held. Where Loki had, personally, headed the building of the stage he now resided upon. It was large and rickety but it got the job done.

"My friends and people," he said, twisting his body to face them, letting the butt of his spear hit the wooden planks of the stage with a resounding thud. "We have, twice now, been invaded by outsiders who felt they may nonchalantly traipse into our home—_our_ city—as if it were nothing."

As he began to speak, his deep voice and talent for oration bubbling and echoing across the room, Natalia, the newest "outsider", entered the auditorium, again dressed in her black body suit, fixing her wristbands securely on her wrist as she weaved her way through the crowd and paused among the inhabitants.

Her blue eyes turned upon Loki, and he found her in the crowd immediately, his face sobering as he paused. Then, he found his mother's face in the crowd, watched as she turned her eyes to Natalia and then back to him with an understanding smile.

Again, he began to pace, and speak: "Friends, we cannot allow this kind of blatant behavior from the top to continue. We must double our patrols, and find new and creative ways to disguise our entry points. The reason I called you all here to discuss this then, is because..."

He paused again before looking at all of the people under his protection with pleading green orbs. "...it will take the participation of all. We will need more able hands working in Fandral's workshop. More willing guns to go topside and participate in scouting parties. We will need more eyes watching the entrances, guarding them, protecting them, willing to fight off any unwanted guests and intruders. It will take the talents and willingness of _all_ of us."

There was a sudden chatter of whispers, harsh and uncertain, that traveled through the group, as some eyes turned on Natalia and others on Logan and Laura. Suddenly, an uproar of questions and complaints flitted toward Loki, and his eyes grew in size a little, surprised at the roar of discord that cropped up among the people.

"We're not safe!" someone shrieked.

"He lied to us!" another barked.

"Once a Liesmith, always a Liesmith!"

Frigga tried to quell the complaints and anger in her immediate area, but to no avail.

Natalia felt the shoving of angry shoulders, and hands against her, and finally, she'd had enough. With a fierce determination, she pushed through the crowd of people and rushed on stage. For some reason, she hated seeing the way the people that Loki had protected for so long were suddenly turning on him, treating him this way. Like a liar. Like a criminal. Like a...

_Monster._

"_No. You brought the monster."_

As his voice rippled through her head, she pulled herself on stage and slid in front of him, holding her hand out as if to protect him. "_Shut up_!"

The room suddenly fell silent, shock and surprise floating from one person to the next.

"You're all a bunch of ungrateful, judgmental _assholes_!" Natalia bellowed, glancing at Frigga in brief apology for her foul mouth, before she turned her attention back to the crowd. "I haven't been here long. And you know what? I don't even _like_ you people, any of you. I am—_was_-a general of Thanos! I've been looking for your hideaway for months!"

There was a collective gasp and more harsh whispering.

"You let one of them in already!" someone shouted in Loki's direction.

"She's going to give us away! All of us!" was another's response.

Someone was even shouting obscenities in a different language—an alien language—and Natalia sighed. "I said _SHUT UP_."

Silence.

"I didn't _tell _you that so you could use it against him," Natalia replied, pointing to Loki. "I did it because..."

She glanced behind her at Loki, who's face was masked in uncertainty and confusion. Then, she turned to the crowd again, "...because I'm not the same person I was a couple days ago." Her voice shook. She herself was uncertain. But what she was about to say is what they needed to hear, she just knew it. Even if she herself didn't completely believe it yet.

"I'm Agent Natasha Romanoff of SHIELD. I'm an Avenger. The _last_ Avenger. And I'm here to help."

Another collective gasp. But this one was different. There was no suspicion in this gasp. Just pure incredulity.

Without another word, Natalia stepped off of the stage and started through the shocked crowd yet again, the eyes of ever soul in the room following her as she walked. She paused, only once, to look back at Loki, his expression one of surprise, confusion and gratitude. Narrowing her own eyes for only a moment, she gave a small nod and then pushed her way through the rest of the silent crowd and out of the auditorium.

Laura watched her and then looked at Logan, fear falling over her heart a little when she noticed the uncertain expression on his face. She wondered what he was thinking about.

She had no idea he was coming to a realization. A realization about Natasha Romanoff. A realization about his friend, Captain America, and Thanos and the alleged "deaths" of the Avengers.

No, for Laura, all she saw was an expression on her father's face that he almost never made. As if he had no control, and was anxious for things to come.

As if he were afraid.

Turning to watch Agent Romanoff go again, Laura scowled, subtly.

_What have you unleashed?_

* * *

Natalia left the auditorium, and took a deep, shaking breath, letting her body fall against the wall near her. Her whole body was shuddering, her mind racing at a million miles a minute, and her heart thudding in her chest with a speed and strength of a car-piston. She could not _believe_ she'd just done that. A part of her felt herself being ripped apart from the inside that she would even _attempt_ to defy Thanos.

But Thanos had defied her.

And if she really _was _an Avenger...then, another part of her knew it was her duty to _stop_ Thanos and help these people.

But the two parts were warring deep within her. Fighting, struggling and clawing. Tearing at her heart.

It was a familiar feeling—two minds fighting for control inside her.

"_Have you ever had someone take your brain and play? Take you out...and stuff something else in? You know what it's like to be unmade?"_

That voice. It was that man's voice. The one who's face she just could not remember.

Then...her own.

"_You know that I do." _

"Natalia."

And his voice. Loki's voice. It made her shiver. Shiver, _differently_.

She turned to look at him and straightened herself, gaining some of her composure again. "Laufeyson."

Loki was quiet, letting his thoughts settle, before he approached her. He paused before her, green looking down into blue. He looked unsure of something as he studied her eyes. He seemed to be searching. Was he looking for Natasha?

Somehow, she knew he was.

"Loki," she said, her voice soft. She wasn't even sure where it had come from. But she knew those eyes had an affect on her. That they always had. Somehow.

"_Natasha!" Loki barked, as he caught up to her in the Stark Tower hanger where the group of them were making their way toward a Quinjet._

_A distant rumble resounded outside and the group of them stumbled. Thor turned his eyes toward the ceiling, and frowned. "Thanos grows stronger. We must hurry!"_

_Stark was moving in swift motions toward his newest—and only—Iron Man suit, powered by an internal arc reactor—and threw himself, quickly, into the suit. Clint nodded to Stark as he took off, flying through a tunnel that opened in the ceiling._

_Natasha turned, immediately, upon hearing Loki's voice and her brow furrowed. The demi-god rushed to her, pausing in front of him, his deep green-and-gold robes hugging his body as regally as they always had. He looked down into her eyes, concern and something else—something anxious yet soft—glowing down at her through the smooth green. _

"_Be careful, Natasha."_

Loki took a step back from her, finally, and cleared his throat, nervously. "I just...wished to express my gratitude at your words before. I respect your conviction to take on a role that you are so very unsure of. To boost the morale of these people. It shows an inner strength that I have always admired in you."

Natalia turned her face from him, her eyes glazing over as they fell on the seam where the wall met the floor. "I'm not so unsure anymore. It's like...I know I _am_ Natasha. But I also don't. It's..." She pressed long, feminine fingers to her forehead. "...so confusing."

When she lifted her head, he was holding something out to her.

Her brow furrowed. "What's this?"

"A reminder of a face you wished to remember." His eyes looked distant—sad. Perhaps a little betrayed. But there was an understanding behind them that she couldn't deny as she took the photograph.

It was the Avengers. All of them, including her. And next to her was a man whose picture was circled with pencil. A man in a black-and-purple vest. A man with blue eyes and a quiver full of arrows.

"_Blue eyes...handful of arrows..."_

Her eyes widened as she looked up at Loki. "Clint. Clint Barton!"

Loki nodded. "Yes."

"Where did you get this?"

"I've had it. My brother gave it to me to give to my mother just before the battle with Thanos. He..." Loki closed his eyes, clenching them tight as his brow furrowed, "...never expected to survive, I imagine."

Natalia frowned. "Then, I can't take this. If it's your mother's—if it's _yours_..."

"Take it. My mother wants you to have it. She says she holds the image of Thor's face close to her heart and she needs it no longer. Not as you do." Loki lowered his eyes. "That and...I would like you to have it. And Thor would want you to have it. To remember them...the Avengers. Your family."

_Your family._

_Family._

Natalia's hands shuddered around the frayed edges of the photograph as her eyes moistened and her body trembled. With sudden intense uncertainty, she shoved the picture back into his hands and turned to run, fear of the unknown—the memories that hid, locked away—causing a fight or flight reaction to explode from the inside out.

_Family? How could they be my family...if I don't even remember them? _

_And what does that make me?_

* * *

"You let her go?" Lognir hissed, bursting into the throne room where his sister had been called to an audience with his brother and king. Ljot raised one, icy hand to stop Lognir before his angry huffing could continue.

Ljot turned his eyes to Lyrn. "You know not what you might have unleashed, sister. This woman is an underling of Thanos. And she now knows of the location of our caverns. And now you have sent her into Loki's domain. You may have compromised our only strong allies, as well, sister. What say you about this?"

"It matters not what she says of it! What I want to know, is how she concealed this woman's freedom from us for so many days!" Lognir bellowed.

"_Enough_, brother. That is enough," Ljot growled. He turned his eyes to Lyrn. "Well, sister?"

"She is the Avenger I spoke of before," Lyrn replied. "And her place is by Loki's side."

"You know this for certain?" barked Lognir. "Your visions are not always completely reliable, Lyrn!"

"This is true, sister. How can you be so sure?" Ljot spoke, his voice low. The spiraling runes carved into his skin gleamed under the glittering reflection of the icy room around him as he turned his head, subtly, to observe her.

"I am not," Lyrn relented. "However, I witnessed an uncertainty in this woman—a hesitation. She is questioning Thanos' motives now. If she truly is an Avenger of old...she will not linger in Thanos' idealism long. She will come to her senses."

"You put too much _faith_ in the hearts and minds of others!" Lognir spat. "You may have doomed us all."

"I see not the trouble, my sons," came a voice from the throne room's threshold as Yngvild stepped in, her giantess body a curving, hulking testament to the fierce beauty of the Frost Giant race. "If we have sent a comrade of Thanos into Loki's domain, perhaps it will teach the puny, welpish boy some respect!"

"_Mother_," Ljot barked, turning commanding eyes on her. "Your input is not welcome if you are going to suggest such things. We have very few allies left in these dark days. You may be queen mother, but I am king and I will not tolerate your ignorance."

He stepped down from his throne, his large feet, sharp like icicles, thundering against the icy floor beneath him as he took steady, lumbering strides. He moved with a cold grace toward his sister and paused before her, looking down into her pupiless eyes. "I know not if the choices you have made are the correct ones, my sister. However, I am willing at this moment to trust your judgment. Pray it does not do you harm."

With that, he turned from them all to move in silent steps toward the entrance, meaning to leave them all in their contemplation. He was paused, only, when one of Lognir's men burst through the door in front of him, nearly barreling into him.

The anxious Frost Giant bowed, deeply, in apology. "M-My apologies, sire!" He turned to Lognir. "Sir, you are needed, immediately."

"And for what?" Lognir asked. "What is the meaning of this disrespectful intrusion upon the king's throne room without invitation?"

The scout opened his mouth to answer, but before he could, there was a deep rumble throughout the caverns and each of them stumbled, Lyrn tumbling into Lognir, who caught her with a brother's care, despite his previous words.

"What was that?" Ljot mumbled, his voice darkening.

Suddenly, the sound of frightened screams and pained yelling boomed through the caverns, echoing into the throne room through the thrown-open doors. Lognir and his scout looked at each other, and after setting Lyrn on her feet, the Frost giant captain and his underling rushed to secure the doors.

However, just as doors fell into one another and sealed shut, a sound of heinous thunder shook the caverns again and with a sudden burst of light and shudder of power, the doors flew open, sending Lognir and his subordinate careening backwards—one into a wall, which began to splinter into a web of thin cracks, and the other into a pillar of ice which burst and shook the very foundations of the room.

With a sudden vengeful determination—and familial need to protect his people—Ljot took up his spear, ready to protect his family and the inner sanctum of his kingdom. However, his resolve faltered, a deep incredulity and fear floating over his face at the figure who floated into the frozen throne room.

Ljot shook the moment of weakness off, quickly, however and he turned to Lyrn, brandishing his spear in front of him in a defensive manner. "Go, my sister! Quickly!"

"Brother-"

"_Now_! You know what you must do!"

Lyrn's glassy eyes shadowed over with concern with her brother, but she did not take even a moment's hesitation as she turned, grabbing her mother by the arm, roughly, and, dragging the elder Jotun, left out of a secret passage in the ice—one that could only be opened by one who bore the runes of a Frost Giant royal.

When he was sure Lyrn and Yngvild were safe, he turned his attention back to the intruder. His red eyes narrowed.

The intruder floated toward him, the sizzling spark of energy rising from the weapon he gripped, tightly, in his grip as he begun to spin it around and around.

Ljot nodded. "Very well, then." He lifted his spear, sliding into an offensive position. "Let us begin."

* * *

Loki never went top side unless it was necessary. However, since the intrusion of so many outsiders, he had decided that fortifying their hidden entrances was necessary. So, he traveled topside to assist Fandral as he fitted each entrance with his newly invented adamantium stealth cover that could be remote controlled from their underground watch room to camouflage against its surrounding area. After each new door was installed, Loki would then place a powerful hex over each of them for extra protection.

"Do you not think it would've been wise to magick the entryways from the beginning, my prince?" Fandral asked, loudly, over the cool rush of blizzard wind which whipped at their faces, causing the icy bite of fresh snow the snap against them, harshly.

"My magic is not without its limits, Fandral," replied Loki, his voice carrying over the loud rush of the gust. "And when the realms first merged and I first brought these people into this place, my magic was maladjusted to this new realm. It was not working properly, just as Heimdall's Sight was taken. I could only perform small protection spells."

Fandral pulled his cloak tighter around him and yelled, "Then, why did you never rectify the protection issue later?"

"It did not seem necessary to waste power on a problem we did not seem to have until recently," Loki replied. Both of their eyes turned, suddenly, to the horizon when the very distant sound of thunder, the small snap of lightning caught their attention.

"What-" Loki began, before the last of new protective doors burst open and Logan's head came through.

"We got a problem, bub."

Loki's long, pale brow furrowed and he twisted his slim, angled body toward Logan, taking slow, calculating steps forward. He kneeled, now eye-level with the mutant. "What problem?"

"The Jotuns are under attack," Logan said, his voice carrying a thick, swollen tone. Angry, but low.

Loki's eyes narrowed and he turned the suspicious green orbs on the horizon again—over which lay the cavernous mountains of the Jotun's new dwelling.

The foreboding rumble of thunder. The questionable flashes of lightning.

Loki lowered his eyes to the snowy surface beneath him, fearfully thoughtful, before he turned his eyes to Logan again. He had a frightening supposition brewing in his mind."Who?"

"We suspect it's Thanos," Logan mumbled.

"...suspect?"

"Well, it isn't one of Thanos' usual dirty-workers."

Loki's heart thundered within his chest louder than the thunder that shook off in the distance. "_Who_?"

Logan frowned and shook his head, apologetically. His blue eyes met the Trickster's deep green ones, with the sorrow of a man who understood the deep-rooted necessity for family—any family.

"Thor, Loki. It's Thor."

* * *

In honor of Memorial Day, a special verse for all those who did serve, have served, have lost loved ones who served or who have loved ones who served but returned safely. Happy Memorial Day:

"Greater love has no one than this: than to lay down one's life for one's friends." John 15:13

Please review.


	10. Chapter 9

I told you that I'd come up with an Into Darkness/Avenger crossover idea. I have one. I don't know if I want to start it right now or wait until this one is finished. What do you guys think?

Also, a multiple chapter update day! Thought you guys deserved it since I was on hiatus for longer than usual. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own these lovely characters. Thank you, Disney, Marvel and all the writers of both the comics and the movies, for bringing them to life for us.

* * *

Chapter 9

* * *

"Thor, Loki. It's Thor."

The horrid assumption Loki had made just moments before became all too real and he pushed past Logan and let himself fall down the tunnel at an incredible speed. He folded his body into a tumble as he hit the scaffold beneath, rolling over and onto his feet and rushing with brisk ferocity to the watch room where he burst through the door.

Pictured on the screens, in one large, disconnected image, was his half-sister Lyrn, closed up in a dark, cold room, her eyes, which glowed in their monotonous color, following him as he stepped deeper into the room.

Before Loki could open his mouth to speak, there was a spark of lightning which tried to whip through the cracks in the ice and into the shadowed room. Lyrn let her head snap around to see if this most recent attempt had done its duty, but found no damage to be seen. She glanced at her mother, who sat, huddled in a corner, looking angry, distressed and confused.

Loki approached the key panel and leaned his palms, heavily, with elbows locked, against it, looking up, sternly, at the large image of her face. "What is the meaning of this, Lyrn? Is what you say truth?"

Another snap of lightning. No change.

"It is as I say, son of Laufey," Lyrn replied. "It is the first born of Asgard. Your stepbrother. The one they call Thor, son of Odin."

"That is impossible. He, as with all the Avengers, was killed during the battle with Thanos that resulted in the merge. It cannot be so."

"You say that," said a voice behind him as Laura stepped into the room with Logan just behind him. "But you forget about your newest house guest, Loki."

"This is none of your business, child," hissed Loki, and his face glowed with a remnant of the man he once was as he seethed, "Logan, teach your _daughter_ her place or I will do it for you."

The soft 'chkt' of claws shooting out was Logan's response and he took a step toward Loki, eyes shining with anger. Loki responded in kind, knives drawn.

It was immediate. One moment, they were two men, on the same side, momentarily separated in their cause, and the next, she was between them, as if she'd been in the room all along.

Natalia. _Natasha_. She was standing between them, her face to Loki, her eyes glimmering up at him, her face begging him to stop. To think.

Loki's anger soothed and he realized he was turning the anger fueled by confusion on the wrong party. He also realized, as he looked down into Natalia's beautifully, unfamiliarly familiar face that Laura was right. What did he _really_ know about the deaths of the Avengers? On that day, he had felt the painful tearing of his home being thrown into the homes of so many others, heard not a whisper from the heroic friends he had so recently made, and had only the word of Thanos to go on—that the Avengers had fallen.

He let his eyes travel over Natalia's face for only a moment more before he stepped back from her and approached the screen, glancing, quickly, at the elf sitting at the keypad—the one who had intercepted the message—and giving him a small nod which said: _You may go. Your work for today is finished._ The elf nodded and skittered out of the room, nervously, as Loki turned fierce green orbs back to the screens.

"Where is Ljot, Lyrn? Where is Lognir?"

Lyrn closed her eyes. "My brothers, I can only assume, have fallen. I know not if they have met their ends, but the assault on the room which my mother and I are barricaded in can only mean that Thor had turned his entire attention the infiltration and eradication of myself and my mother—the last of the royal family."

"No," Loki murmured. "That isn't it. He wants information. Information that Ljot and Lognir are too loyal to give. Someone has informed him of where your kind reside. Someone has told him of your knowledge and alliance with my compound. He wants _me_."

There was a sudden explosion of light, so blinding that it caused the video feed to crackle and cut out for a moment, before the feed buzzed and blinked, the video returning, as the face of a woman, her hair dark save for one shock of white, pressed closely to the lens.

"Ding, ding, ding. Guess the great Loki Laufeyson wins the prize. Ain't that right, big guy?" The woman shifted her head just a little to allow those present to witness Thor as he barreled his hammer into Lyrn's breast, knocking the wind and consciousness out of her body. Yngvild screamed, gasped and ultimately fainted, and the woman's face came back into view.

As Thor dragged Lyrn to her, she removed her glove and smirked at Loki. "We're comin' for ya, sugah." She touched her fingers to Lyrn's forehead, and Loki watched at the body convulsed, the mouth opening in a silent scream.

Before anyone could say anything, Logan rushed into view, causing the woman to falter for a moment, before the screen went dark. He turned to look at Laura, his face painted with apology, though his eyes mirrored anger.

"That was Rogue," Laura said, finally. "Wasn't it?"

Logan said nothing. Twisting his burly frame toward Loki, he murmured, "We need to talk."

Loki glanced at Natalia and then slid his eyes to the two mutants, nodding. "Yes. It appears we do. You know something you have not informed me of. You were hiding valuable information."

"This probably ain't the best place to talk 'bout this. Not if they can bring up that video feed again. But yeah, LeBeau told me somethin'. Somethin' you're gonna wanna know under the circumstances," Logan mumbled, scratching the back of his head, anxiously.

"Very well," Loki murmured. "Everyone, follow me."

* * *

Anna had waited to step into the throne room proper until she was sure Thor had dispatched Ljot in some way, shape or form. As she stepped over the bodies of the unconscious Frost Giants, she wrinkled her nose, disgusted that such a creature could even exist. She searched their minds first, but they had fallen too deeply into unconsciousness for her to delve any information from them. They may have even already been dead.

As she approached the former god of thunder, she rolled her eyes, frequently, upon realizing how difficult it had become for Thor to break through the magicked door that held the last of the Jotun royals. Finally, they broke through, and after her little "chat" with Loki Laufeyson, and her digging through Lyrn's subconscious, she growled and kicked the limp Giant away.

"She don't know the way. Not for sure. All I'm getting' is a bunch of interconnecting underground tunnels. It'll take us _months_ to search them all," she hissed as she looked around. She moved to the unconscious queen and performed the same task, but was able to collect even less.

"Dammit," she hissed. That wasn't the only issue, however. Seeing that man...the one on the video screen...

Something seemed so familiar about the scruffy face and hulking muscles. And for a moment, she had been unsure—she had faltered.

Like she almost had with the Cajun. In fact, she had forced herself not to falter that time. She had been _prepared_. But the face had appeared so suddenly this time that she couldn't control herself. It made her angry. She had a _mission_.

"They are not dead."

Anna turned, broken from her thoughts and moved through the broken remnants of ice back into the main throne room. Thor was checking Ljot and Lognir, and again, he repeated, "They are not dead."

Anna nodded. "Fine then. We take 'em back to Thanos' palace. One of two things'll happen. Either they'll regain enough consciousness for me to probe their ugly little heads _or_ Laufeyson'll come lookin' for 'um. Either way, our master wins."

She pressed the earpiece twined around her ear. "Send in back-up. We need all the muscle we can get."

Fifteen minutes later, a party of Chitauri emerged and Anna gave the order to detain the Giants and transport them back to Thanos' palace, immediately. Turning to Thor, she frowned as his eyes seemed to trace the runes that ran across the bodies of the unconscious Jotuns. Like her, he seemed to be focused on something lost but familiar—something buried deep within and clawing at the subconscious at the smallest of reminders; a constant irritant.

Anna scoffed, silently, and slid her gloves back on, before punching Thor as hard as she could in the arm. She knew it did nothing to him but it made her feel better and got his attention.

"C'mon, ya big idiot. We gotta go," she replied.

Thor nodded, silently, took one final look at Lyrn as she, being the last one carried out, disappeared into the tunnels, and then allowed himself to follow the cavalry of troops, and Anna, out of the Jotun throne room.

* * *

Loki led the group of them down—down—down. He led them as far down as he could, to Odin's sleep chamber, and touched glowing blue fingers to the door, watching as his magic slid through the runes carved into the metal. There was a sudden flash and then a 'chnk' of metal unlocking, before Loki pushed the massive door open and shuffled the handful of people into the room. Then, he closed the door behind them, magicking the lock once more and turning to Logan.

"What have you kept from me, Wolverine?" Loki began, using the man's formal moniker so that he would know the demi-god meant business. "And do not think you might lie to me. I am the Prince of Lies, the Trickster god, the Mischief-maker. I knew you held secrets from me the moment you began to stay here and I only let you continue doing so on good faith that you might be withholding this information for a good reason. I _will_ know if you are lying. Now, speak."

"LeBeau escaped Thanos' compound," Logan started, and brushed a nervous hand through his scruffy mane. "And he told me some stuff about his escape. Some of the things he saw. Loki, you're not gonna like it, bub."

Loki glanced at Natalia, who's eyes were fixed on the glowing casket in the middle of the room. He frowned, furrowing his brow, when he noticed most eyes were fixed on the same central point. He turned, suddenly, and looked at his sleeping father, his expression growing dark.

"My father," he said, his voice pregnant with emotion.

"What happened to him?" Natalia breathed, a deep weight settling in her stomach at the sight. It was saddening, but she just couldn't understand why. Though, he was not her father, or Logan or Laura's, seeing him in such a vulnerable state was like sitting near the deathbed of a loved one. It was heartbreaking—inexplicably so.

"No one is certain. Except, perhaps, my mother. But she speaks naught of the incident. We assume Thanos bested him when he absconded with the Infinity Gauntlet. In fact, it is the only explanation that makes any sense, as my father would not allow such a psychopath to acquire the Gauntlet in any capacity but that of death."

"He's dead?" Natalia asked, her head snapping around to look at Loki with horror.

"No. He is in Odinsleep. But he has never slept so very long. My mother and I have come to accept that it is, most likely, eternal." Turning from his father with a sense of anger, sorrow and abandonment he wished he did not feel, he mumbled, "He may as well be dead."

Natalia had the deepest urge to reach out and hug the Asgardian, but she quelled it with a silent nod.

Loki let his eyes travel back to Logan, placing his hands on his hips, his expression impatient—questioning.

Logan tore his eyes from Odin and took a deep breath. "There's tons of them, Loki."

" 'Tons' of what?"

"Tons of Natasha. Tons of Thor. Tons of Rogue. Tons of _heroes_, Loki. At least, that's what I assume."

"Assume?"

Logan sighed and slammed his fist into a wall nearby. "Look, I'm tellin' you what I think. What I _know_ is what LeBeau told me, which is that there are _thousands_ of chambers in Thanos' palace. _Stasis_ chambers, Loki. He's essentially keepin' _someone_ on ice—_lots_ of someones. If she," he jerked a thumb toward Natalia, "and Thor and Rogue are any indication, those _someones_ are heroes. _All_ the heroes he conquered along the way. It's not surprising, y'know?"

He paused and crossed his arms over his chest, turning his angry gaze downward. "Not even a little. The X-Men were there that day too. And they never came back. Never heard from again. Dead, or not? No one ever knew. That's why Laura and I took the adamantium and booked it. But it all makes _sense_ now. Gambit being alive...and Rogue. It's been a century, right? It's impossible..."

He snapped his head up, observing Natalia, carefully, blue meeting blue. "Even you. If you are who Mr. Mischief thinks you are, and you survived Thanos' assault, you _should_ be dead. But you ain't. He did somethin', that's what LeBeau said, did something to all the heroes. Made them like Laura 'n' me...like Cap. Like you, Loki. _Immortal. _And now he's keepin' 'em on ice for when he needs them, figuratively speakin'. And he's altering their memories...that's what LeBeau said. Said after a while, everything came flooding back..."

Natalia felt numb. Suddenly, it was as if her whole body stopped working. She let the information sink in, and realized that everything she had been questioning over the past few days was true. She wasn't who Thanos had said she was. She wasn't General Natalia. She was...a tool. A pawn that Thanos had used. A remnant of a time of heroes long past. Heroes which Thanos had thousands more of. She was _disposable._

Shuddering, she felt the strength drain from her legs, and tumbled like a rag doll toward the floor. The shock of heating the hard metal never came, however, as arms, clad in dingy olive green, roped around her, keeping her from the finale of her fall. She looked up, wide-eyed, at Loki, and her brow furrowed. "Why? Why? _Why_?"

"I am sorry, Natalia," he murmured. "I am sorry."

"No...no," she whispered, as he set her, carefully, on her bottom. She pulled gently from his grip, though his hands lingered on her shoulders. She shook her head, quietly, and then looked up at him again. "My name isn't Natalia."

Loki's eyebrows knit together. "It-?"

"It's Natasha. Please. _Please_, Loki. Call me Natasha."

Loki's heart began to pound—and it _squeezed_ within his chest, cold as ice, as if captured in the icy grip of his true race. "I...do not understand..."

"I can't remember her, Loki," she began, her breathing quickening, ragged and afraid. "I can't remember _me. _But I _know_ now that I'm not who Thanos says I am. So...so I _must_ be her..."

She was hyperventilating, but she decided it was better than bursting into tears in front of them. If there was anything she knew about herself, it was that she was much stronger than that. "And...and..." she gasped, "maybe if I let myself be her...maybe if I finally let go of the lie...maybe then, I can remember...!"

She was on her hands and knees now, and she felt her stomach churning, flipping over within her. She could feel the oncoming sickness, and she tried to slow her breathing, to no avail.

Until she felt the lips. Soft in their touch, but chapped in their texture. They pressed firmly to her forehead and she calmed, almost immediately, turning her eyes upward to look upon Loki's face, his expression painted with gentleness, eyes closed, hands squeezing her shoulders, comfortingly.

The kiss was brief, and then, Loki began to speak into her forehead. "Silence yourself, Natasha. You've nothing to fear...this confusion and anxiety...it is natural when you are unsure of who and what you are. But all will be well. So calm yourself, please. I want not to see you sicken yourself."

Natalia—_Natasha—_kept her eyes fixed on him through the entire speech, feeling a familiar warmth bubbling up in her chest. Who was this man to her in the past? Why did he treat her differently from the rest? And why did she feel as if his presence was the key to unlocking her memories?

She opened her mouth to speak but Loki was already standing and looking, thoughtfully, at Logan. He was planning. Scheming. He was perceiving deep within his mind what the myths accredited most to him. Mischief. Trickery. Whatever necessary to unravel Thanos' plans at the seams.

"You have a plan," Logan murmured. It wasn't a question.

"Perhaps. Firstly, though, we must inspect the Jotun caverns. There, we may find a clue as to the plans of Thanos' _puppets,_" His lips wrapped, seethingly, around the words, anger at the disrespectful treatment of his brother evident, as he continued, "and thus, Thanos himself."

"Right," Logan said. "I'll get some guys together. We'll go right away."

"No," Loki said, firmly. "I must lead this expedition. I, alone, know how to navigate the Jotun caverns with confidence. And I, alone, am able to bypass some of their security measures—after all, the royal blood of Jotunheim traverses through my veins."

"That's right," Natasha said, after collecting herself a little. "The bars they had me behind. They were made of ice. But they were magicked. I couldn't even touch them without getting a shock of frost bite up my arm. The Jotun princess let me out."

Loki swiveled his head around on his neck, the veins and muscles stretching slightly beneath porcelain skin. "Lyrn released you?"

"Yes. She told me I'd find answers here. Remember? Inconsistencies."

"_There are inconsistencies in my existence I was told you...could help me fix."_

The words rang out in Loki's ears, and suddenly Lyrn's prophecy made sense to him. All of it. _For good or ill_. Lyrn had not known because _Natasha_ had not known, until this moment. Now, he understood. Suddenly, he felt a strange tug of brotherly emotion toward the female Jotun, but he shook it away immediately.

With a firm nod, he composed himself and murmured, "Very well. I will lead the expedition, then."

Logan gave an understanding, if still unsure, nod, and Laura agreed, quietly.

"I'm going with you," Natasha said, when all heads whipped around to her.

"Out of the question," Loki replied, curtly. "You will be nothing more than a target if Thanos has eyes inside the caverns."

"But I _know_ the caverns. I found my way out of them, _by myself._ And I don't forget anything easily. It's there, imprinted in my brain. If we were to get separated, I could-"

"_No_." Even just the _thought_ of her getting separated from him inside the tunnels frightened him beyond belief. "I will _not_ allow it!"

"_Why not_?"

"Because, I cannot lose-"

His speech was paused however as his mother stumbled into the room, to the confusion of the others. Loki had placed a special addendum on his spell—besides himself, Frigga was the only one who could enter the chamber and bypass the spell. But as she entered it now, tears streaked her beautifully regal face, and her whole body shuddered.

She moved, like a zombie, reaching out for Loki, her face gaunt, her lips gasping as she sobbed, continuously. "Is it...true...?" She let out a loud, shaking sob. "My son...Loki...is it...Th-Thor...?"

Like Natasha moments before, she lost the feeling in her entire lower body, tumbling weakly into Loki's arms as she pressed her tearstained countenance into his grungy tunic. Sobs wracked her body, shaking her meager form as her youngest cradled her close, silently.

When she did not receive an answer, Loki saw a horrifying picture of himself in his usually graceful and steadfast mother, when she looked up at him with desperate, angry eyes, and cried, "_Tell me_! Is it _Thor_?!"

Loki shut his eyes, clasping each eyelid tightly against the other. "It...it is, Mother. It is."

Another desperate sob ripped from her throat and she clutched Loki tighter, as his slim, muscled arms gripped her, firmly, pressing her slight form against him.

Frigga opened her eyes, momentarily, to gaze upon her youngest—holding her as Thor or his father might. With comfort and strength. To soothe her. To calm her. She caught sight of the band she had given him tied loosely into his hair at that moment, and felt a calmness wash over her. With one last glance at her husband over Loki's shoulder, she let the wariness of her tears overtake her, and fell into an unconscious sleep.

Loki felt her go limp in his arms and leaned in close to her mouth so as to ascertain if she still breathed. When he was relieved to find she did, he stood, lifting her smaller body into his arms. "I will take her back to our quarters. Logan, please inform Fandral and Heimdall that I would be honored if they would join us in this assignment. And you as well, Laura."

Natasha's eyes widened in shock and, as the group left Odin's chamber, and parted ways, she rushed after Loki and grabbed him by the shoulder. "What the hell? You'll let a _kid_ go but you won't let me? What's wrong with you? Are you crazy? Are you-"

She was cut off. Despite the unconscious woman in his arms, and Natasha's incessant caterwauling, he kissed her. He kissed her, firmly, and fleetingly, and then it was over and she was looking at him with big, astonished eyes.

"Y...you..."

But he did not give her a chance to speak. He simply turned and continued to walk—to bring his mother back to their room in the deafening silence.

* * *

"My lord," Anna murmured, bowing deeply to Thanos as she approached his throne.

Thanos was stroking his boxy jaw with his burly, square fingers, thoughtful and irritated at the strange turn of events which his plans had taken of late. He'd lost his best (and most desirable) general, he was losing countless sacrifices a day to Laufeyson's attempts, and he _still_ could not find the damned Trickster.

When he heard the woman's voice, however, he turned his all-blue eyes to her, the thin, purple rings in the middle focusing, startlingly, on her. "Welcome back, my dear. I trust your mission went smoothly."

Anna was afraid to speak, at first, when she murmured, "Not...not at first, sire." She saw him shift, stand abruptly from his throne and take one bellowing step down from the regal seat, before she continued, swiftly, "...however! However...we got a location from within the Jotun king's mind. He regained consciousness long enough for me t'dig it out."

Thanos anger fizzled away, and was replaced by the stretch of a knowing, malevolent grin. "Which means..."

Anna, who's eyes were cast down in respect, let her blue orbs wander up to his face, as a grin melted into her own expression. "...we got him."

* * *

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. " 1 Corinthians 13:4-8

Please review.


	11. Chapter 10

Oh, goodness, allergies. I have horrible, aching allergies. The only good part is (please, God, let this continue to be so) I can BREATHE still. It's just I have a horrible, perpetual headache and aching chest. BUT NO FEVER! So I deem it just allergies. So, how am I going to take my mind off of the misery? Write of course!

Disclaimer: Own it not, sayeth I! (Aren't we glad Loki and Thor don't talk like that in the movies? Don't get me wrong, I love Shakespearean english #lololbachelorsinenglish# but yeah. So much easier to write and take seriously without all the "eth"s and "thou"s)

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Chapter 10

Frigga was sleeping, soundly, in the corner of the room as Loki sat, stagnantly, at the small, wooden table that rested perpendicular to her bed. He had poured himself a drink but had scarcely touched it. He picked up the jar, swirled the amber liquid, watching it slosh, invitingly, against the glass walls of the container, and then set it down again, letting his head rest, heavily, against his arms.

So many thoughts and images flooded his mind, twisting and flipping through each of his neurotransmitters, taunting and tormenting him. Thor's face in the Jotun caverns. Logan's words about the heroes (how many thousands could Thanos call up at will?). But the image that taunted him most, despite his better judgment and the more pressing issues surrounding him, was the memory of that kiss with Natasha. Like a fool, he had let the emotions surrounding Thor's return, Natasha's confession of self, and his mother's breakdown get the better of him and, when Natasha had chased him to give him a piece of her mind, he just couldn't take it. He didn't _need_ a lecture, nor did he want one. He had to stop her words before they could start.

It was not the reason under which he had wished to act upon their first kiss.

Nor had he meant to enjoy it so very much in a moment when everything appeared to be going to hell. And now, guilt gripped him from the very core, for as Thor suffered under Thanos' control and his mother slept in a disruptive sleep of anger and sorrow, he dwelt on the tingle which rose to his lips when he remembered Natasha's kiss.

_She is truly the Black Widow. My lips tingle with her poison—a poison that dwells in the mind. _

Clenching his jaw and slapping his hand down on the table, he lifted his head, quickly, when he heard Frigga groan and shift in her sleep. He took a deep, calming breath and then picked up the jar in front of him, letting the scent of stale alcohol fill his nostrils, before he downed the entire jar in one long drink.

"Sire."

Loki let the sour expression on his face from the alcohol wain and then turned his head. Standing in the doorway of his room was Heimdall. He was weighed down by a sparkling photon rifle reinforced with an adamantium shell and utilizing the identity tech that Fandrall had modified strapped to his back, two adamantium blades—one a dagger, the other a sword—tied around his waist, and a light-weight breastplate also fashioned from adamantium. The gleaming white-silver color of the metal contrasted starkly against the deep, dark color of Heimdall's smooth skin. He approached Loki, slowly.

Loki chuckled, bitterly. "You were correct, Heimdall. About Natasha."

"Sire?"

"She is a distraction to me—a vulnerability," he replied and then stood, turning to gaze at the Seer. "She has completely bewitched my mind. Even now, when I should be focusing on the eradication of my brother from Thanos' grip, my mind dwells on..."

He paused, letting his voice trail off as his fingers twisted into fists of deep impatience—impatience with himself for his foolish behavior. "...her."

"My liege," Heimdall said, ever the respectful servant—ever the strong warrior and friend. "I remember well what I said when you first allowed the Spider to settle here. I was fearful that her presence would affect you, yes. But moreso than 'distraction', my prince...I feared for your heart."

Loki's eyes snapped up from their position on the floor, to look into the Gatekeeper's face. "Heimdall?"

"I knew if you allowed that woman to remain, and she turned out to be merely a ploy of Thanos', you would not be able to save face." He paused, turned, allowing Loki only a view of his strong, chiseled profile. Loki knit his eyebrows together, a deep furrow creasing his forehead.

"You would crumble under the weight of your own emotions," he continued, after a long, silent moment. "And not just those to do with her...but all of them. You have shouldered so much, my lord. Your father's eternal sleep, your mother's well being, Thor's alleged death. To have the woman that you loved be merely the pawn of you undoing...I knew it would be the final crack in your already damaged heart. I knew it would destroy you."

Loki took deep, uncertain breaths, his green eyes searching the emptiness of the room beneath their feet—searching _beyond_ said emptiness—for an appropriate response. His mind reeled, his body shuddering, and he let his slender fingers and wide palm rest against the wall nearby, so as not to stumble or fall.

Heimdall placed a hand on the Trickster's shoulder to steady him. "Loki," he began, and then closed his eyes, submissively, "I was mistaken. She has done nothing but proven herself exactly who you believed her to be. Even if she, herself, does not remember. And, though she may cause you to falter now, my liege, if there is something that I have learned from your mother and father—from Thor—it is that _love_ can and will only make you stronger."

Loki slowly turned green orbs up to look at him, bewildered.

Heimdall continued: "Because, _it gives you something to_ _fight for_."

The prince's eyes widened, and he realized, suddenly, that loving Natasha was the cause for _everything. _It had changed him, morphed his heart, given him the tools he needed to love his family again—to love Thor and Odin again. To act on Thor's ideals. To be the _hero_.

All that had transpired in the last century—all that he had accomplished, all those he had saved—was due to Natasha's friendship. Was due to his falling in love with her. And, perhaps, to her, love was for children. But, Heimdall was right. It gave him the strength to be a _man_.

A strength he would need to protect her and his mother. A strength he would need to save Thor. Her presence wasn't a distraction. It was _determination_.

And so, Loki let that determination settle over his face and picked up the spear settled, silently, in the corner of the room and turned to Heimdall, a finality in his expression. "What say you, good Heimdall?"

Heimdall gave his prince a strong smirk and bowed. "I will follow you to the ends of the universe, my _king_."

Loki smirked in return, and gave a small bow in return. "I thank you for your loyalty, my friend. Now, let us collect the rest of our party. We depart in twenty minutes."

With that, the men turned and moved, swiftly, toward the door, Loki pausing only once to turn and gaze upon his mother, softness painted in liquid green orbs. _Be safe, Mother. I shall return._ And then, he was gone.

* * *

Logan and Laura had already ascended to the top. Because of their healing factor and adamantium bones, they needed little else to keep them safe, moving back and forth within the dangerous realm. Fandral, like Heimdall, had loaded himself down with tech—weaponry, armor, a wrist-compass with a holo-screen, and subtle ear-bud communicators for all of them.

With his new spear and his magic, Loki, like Logan and Laura, needed little in the way of weaponry, but Fandral had fashioned an adamantium breastplate for the prince anyway. Runes similar to those on his spear were carved into the metal—most likely with Logan's claws—so as to enhance the protective quality of the plate.

Despite his silence, Loki gave Fandral a nod of thanks and then sent he and Heimdall on ahead of him. As he leaped onto the ladder to pull himself up, last, he felt the gentle touch of feminine fingers, calloused by years of trigger-pulling, touch his ankle, carefully, pausing him in his climb. He twisted and bowed his head a little, meeting blue eyes with green.

"Natal—ah, apologies, Natasha," he murmured and jumped down from the ladder, glancing up the tunnel at the his climbing companions to ensure they still climbed, cautiously, before turning his eyes again on her. "What is it?"

She was dressed in her white jumpsuit this time, and a small semblance of fear filled Loki's heart. Had she reverted? Yet, silent and still, she stood, looking at him.

"I'm coming with you," she replied. "I figured I'd blend with the surroundings better in this."

This was true. Each of his companions had dressed themselves in white garments under the silvery-white of their adamantium weapons. It would be impossible to spot them trekking through the snowy blizzard landscape. Still, despite Natasha's intelligence and skills, Loki shook his head.

"I have already told you. I will not concern you in this," he replied.

"You _can't_ just leave me here. That's not who I am. That's not who I've ever been," she argued. "I've been under Thanos' thumb for...what did Logan say, a century? I want—I want—"

Loki reached out and pulled her into his arms, understanding her anger. Her rage. She _wanted_ revenge. She wanted to reach out and break the necks of all of the people who had allowed Thanos to use her. She wanted to destroy his regime from the inside out.

"This is not a mission of revenge, little spider," he murmured. "We are simply looking for clues. And, as it stands, I know if you were to catch up with anyone involved with Thanos right now, you would end them. Your anger is that great, and I understand..."

He trailed off for a moment, before: "...but one of those puppets is my brother. My perrogative is not to end him. It is to _save_ him."

Natasha inhaled his scent, listened, carefully, to his words, and tried to calm the heart-pounding rage that boiled within her. As she listened to him speak of his brother, she felt the tickle of memories in the back of her mind and closed her eyes against his shoulder, letting the images take over.

"_Your brother would give up his life for that Jane Foster. You don't care at all?" Natasha hissed. Loki had only been on Earth for a month. His magic was limited and his close-minded ideals even more so. It was the first time he had ever witnessed Thor's attitude when around Jane. She was visiting Stark Tower. Thor was enthralled._

"_And why would I?" Loki replied. "It is his life to do with what he wishes. I have never much cared what the Golden Prince of Asgard does with himself. If he wishes to throw away his potential kingship—his throne and all that entails—for the love of a human woman...for his _precious _Earth...why would I care?"_

"_Fine. You two obviously have two different views of humans. But he vouched for you. _He's _the reason your here. And he's just as soon give up his life for _you _as for her. _So_, tell me, Loki, would you do the same? What if_ he _needed to be saved? What would you do?"_

_There was a pregnant silence between them for a long moment. Loki's expression was one of struggle. There was obviously a war going on within his heart. Then:_

"_I would not save him."_

And she remembered, _he got up and left before she could say another word._

"Why?" was her sudden question. "Why do you mean to save him? You told me you wouldn't."

"Well, yes, but that was-" Loki paused, suddenly, and looked down at her with shocked green irises. "Wait...you remember this?"

Natasha chuckled, a little bitterly. "Yeah. Been remembering bits and pieces of Natasha Romanoff's life for weeks now. I knew your name before I ever saw your face clearly. When I learned who you were though, it was like every memory that had you in it suddenly made sense."

She pulled herself, gently, out of his arms and brushed her trigger-calloused fingers through her long red curls. "The blur with green eyes and black hair was suddenly you. And it was like...it was right. Does that sound...crazy? And confusing? Ugh."

Loki watched her pace a few steps one way, pivot, and pace the other, before reaching out and grabbing her arm, softly. "I cannot say I understand not remembering who I am. But I can say I understand the feeling of being something I am not. And I am truly sorry."

Natasha's eyes studied him from scalp to toes and then back up into his eyes, searching. Searching for answers. Finally, she shook her head, smirking a little sardonically. "Don't be. Somehow, I get the feeling this isn't the first time this has happened to me. Guess I'm an easy target."

"_No,_" Loki barked, causing the woman to jump and look at him, incredulously. Loki continued: "You have _never_ been an 'easy target'. You are one of the strongest mortals I have ever met. Natasha..."

He paused and swung his other hand around to place on her opposite arm. He looked deeply into her blue eyes. "...you outsmarted _me_. You tricked _me_, Natasha. _Me_, the Trickster god. You are..._limitless_..."

His voice trailed off, the sound of it breathy and awed. Natasha furrowed her brow. This man—a _god—_was awed by her?

"_Loki_!" came a voice from above and Loki let his sharp jaw swivel up on his long, muscled neck (Natasha could not help but admire these features, discreetly) to see who was calling to him. Fandral's eyes gazed down at him questioningly from the top and Loki gave a firm nod to him, before he turned his head back to Natasha.

"Please, stay here," he asked.

Natasha blinked at the sudden statement and then gave him an unsatisfied expression. "What? You _just_ said that I-"

"-was limitless. Yes, and strong, and intelligent, and by all means _capable_ of taking care of herself, I have _no _doubt, but I _have_ my reasons, Natasha. _Please_, trust me."

"Why should I-"

"My mother," Loki replied. "If you will not do it for me, do it for her. I am most uncomfortable leaving her here while I traverse into unknown danger. I need to know someone I can trust is protecting her."

Natasha glowered at him, immediately. "What a dirty play, using your mother that way." He knew she couldn't say no.

A sudden grin, reminiscent of a man in a glass cage, stretched across his face. "Well, I am the Trickster, my dear, am I not?" With that, he leaped onto the ladder again, ready to pull himself up.

"Loki!" Natasha called, and without waiting for him to acknowledge her, she asked, "Why did you kiss me?"

He faltered, pausing in his ascent. However, he did not turn, nor did he answer. He just hung on the ladder, silent, his eyes cast down, dwelling in the denseness of the moment with an understanding that now was not the time to have this discussion. Finally, he looked back at her, offered her an apologetic expression, and then turned back to the metal rungs of the ladder and continued his determined ascent.

Natasha watched him go, unsatisfied by the answer—or lack thereof—but she knew, for now, that it would have to wait. He had more important matters to attend to. And so did she.

With that, she turned, and made her way through the scaffolds and pathways of the compound, toward Loki and Frigga's room.

* * *

The caverns were dark, and quiet. Loki's entire being shuddered from the ugly silence that met his ears when he entered. Usually the sound of the Jotun language echoed through the icy halls. But, now?

Nothing.

As they shuffled through the chilly tunnels, Loki tried to imagine what happened here, as they traveled deeper and deeper. He didn't have to think long, however. When they reached the first of the many Jotun common rooms, they found out quickly.

Loki recognized it, immediately. Pieces of broken Jotun bodies, like a block of ice broken in pieces by an ice-pick, were strewn across the room. Men. Women. Tears sprung to Loki's eyes, because he knew that only one weapon could cause such damage and devastation to a Jotun body. However, he blinked them back and kneeled, running his fingers over the bludgeoned body parts, trying to discern what he could, allowing his digits to turn their natural frozen blue.

Fandral and Heimdall scouted the room, trying to find any survivors and as Logan and Laura entered, last, their faces denoted their shock. Logan looked at Loki. "Who did this?"

Loki stood up straight, watching his hand as it the color of cream returned to his skin, before he looked at Logan. "My brother. He is not of sound mind. Thanos' hold is deep. And dangerous."

"It is reminiscent of our first encounter with the Jotuns, isn't it?" Fandral murmured, sorrow veiling his eyes.

"Fearfully so," Loki replied. "Come. We must inspect the main throne room."

"There's no door out of this room," Laura said in response. "There's on in, but not one out."

"That is because no one is allowed in the throne room except the royal family and those invited for an audience," Loki replied. Then, hee moved, carefully, through the common room and approached the wall opposite him. Letting his Asgardian countenance fade to Jotun, he allowed the fullness of his Frost Giant lineage show. Then, closing his eyes, he let his magic wash over him, and flood from every one of them runes carved into his flesh.

Letting his (now) red eyes fly open, he reached out and touched his glowing skin to the wall. The group watched as his glowing runes seemed to melt into the runes on the wall. Suddenly, a glowing outline of large, ornate double-doors appeared, cutting into the wall and then the glowing faded. Loki stepped back, collecting himself, letting his Asgardian appearance to return as he took deep, shaking breaths. Utilizing his Jotun royal blood always took so much out of him due to its vicarious relationship with his Asgardian body.

Fandral approached him, placing a steadying hand on his shoulder. "Is all well, my friend?"

"Yes," Loki breathed, and then, clearing his throat, repeated firmly, "Yes."

Laura watched him as he struggled to keep himself stable, before turning her blue eyes to the door. "What is this?"

"A passage direct to the throne room," Loki replied. "Each of the common rooms has one. Only a Jotun royal or a Frost Giant summoned to an audience may access them. They are also easy escape routes for the Jotun royal family should something like this ever happen."

"Why were they not utilized?" Heimdall murmured, quietly.

"I know not," Loki offered. "But it was fortunate it was not, considering..." He trailed off, glancing around at the carnage that lay at their feet. His fists clenched. _Thor_.

"We must go," he hissed, and pushed the heavy doors open, stumbling through and righting himself, immediately.

"My prince, have care. You have weakened yourself, calling up so much of your Jotun power," Heimdall murmured, his hands hovering so as to catch Loki should he fall.

"I am fine!" Loki snapped, twisting his head around to glower at the group of them, slapping Heimdall's hands away. "I do not require being _babied_, Heimdall."

"My apologies, sire," mumbled the Gatekeeper, giving an apologetic bow.

As they ventured further into the throne room, Loki let out a choking gasp as the air around him grew dense and frigid—more frigid than usual. He reached up, pressing his hand to his chest where his heart beat wildly beneath. Heimdall and Fandral approached him as Laura and Logan searched the room. It was completely empty.

"The room...it mourns..." breathed Loki, as again the creamy porcelain of his skin began to morph, changing to runed cerulean. "It is...mourning..."

Heimdall reached out to steady Loki, but Fandral paused his hand, shaking his head, silently. He remembered what happened to Volstagg. It was unwise to touch Loki in this form.

"It cries out..." Loki said, his voice distant—far from them or their mission. "Begs..." He approached the throne, his back to them, standing straight and rigid in front of it. Suddenly, he turned, his red eyes gleaming with...power.

Heimdall and Fandral gazed upon him fearfully, recognizing the reminiscent ugliness of a Loki thought long gone—a Loki who craved power and rulership. They could see it—his body thrummed with power and latent Jotun magic, his spear glowing harshly with icy potency. He fixed his eyes on them, turning the spear toward them, slowly.

"Kneel," he said, lowly.

"_Hey_!"

Logan's voice rang out as he reached out for Loki, grabbing his wrist before he could do any kind of damage, twisting it around so that Loki's attack hit the ceiling, bounced off the ice and dissipated.

Heimdall and Fandral cried, "_No_!" upon Logan's arrival, realizing his plan and watched as Logan's hand turned black and frost-bitten.

Loki felt the twist of his wrist, the crack and dissipation of magic, and something snapped inside of him—the grip of the Jotun throne room on him—the latent Jotun magic that had twisted itself around him, intent on claiming his royal blood—broke, like a rubberband and Loki's blue skin faded again to white, and he looked around, his brow furrowed. "What...what happened?"

Logan stepped back and looked at his hand. "Well. That's a first, bub." However, in slow succession, the black began to fade. The color of his skin began to return, moving slowly from his forearm to tips of his fingers. Heimdall and Fandral watched, shocked. Logan's arm had fully healed.

"What?" he asked. "You think 'cause he's some kinda god that my healing factor still wouldn't work? I saw you flinch back from him. Figured something was up. Figured only someone who could touch dangerous things and come out of it unscathed could wake his ass up."

"What...did I do?" Loki asked.

"This place is dangerous for you, my prince," Heimdall murmured. "Your Jotun blood reverberates with this room. It nearly took you."

Loki felt the vague presence of magic not his own and he glanced around. Studying each of the runes carved into the walls and on the throne, he nodded. "...I understand. The royal family is gone."

"How could you know that?" Logan asked.

"Because the runes on the walls and throne react to Jotun royal blood. Enhances the magic of whoever is reigning king of Jotunheim," Loki replied. He turned and looked at Fandral and Heimdall. "...which is myself. The royal family is gone and thus..."

He swallowed, uncertain of himself suddenly. "If it is as you say, my magic was enhanced beyond my recognition. It must have momentarily paralyzed my mind." He looked at the three of them, invidiually. "I am sorry."

"If you boys are done with your profound touchy-feely moment," Laura said, standing in the cracked and crumbled threshold of the secret passage from the throne room into the safe-room. "You guys should see this."

Loki nodded and moved forward, quietly, careful to avoid nearing or touching the throne. He stepped into the safe-room, his eyes trained on the video equipment magicked into the icy walls. This must have been how Lyrn had contacted him. However, that wasn't the most shocking feature in the room.

Laying in the corner, the entirety of her body covered in a splintering of massive cracks, like the appearance of thin ice when it is disturbed by something heavy, was a female Jotun body. It did not move, or appear to breathe and as Loki approached it, his eyes closed, pity written in emerald green.

"It's the queen mother," Loki replied. "It's Yngvild."

"Loki?" Fandral asked. "Is she-"

Loki shook his head. "...she is dead."

* * *

Anna lowered her infrared binoculars and smirked. There was no immediately. heat-signature but because of specialized plexi-steel microchip installed in the tool, she could turn up the infrared detector and was getting small signature blips just over the ridge and deep beneath the snowy surface. Even the cold climate couldn't withstand Thanos' tech, and for that, Anna was abundantly, maliciously proud.

Pressing the button on her ear-bud, she murmured, "Alright, boys, think we found it. Unless some other secret underground compound has tons'a little red dots all hangin' out in one place."

When she received no answer, she rolled blue orbs to the sky and mumbled, "Stupid lizards, they don't have no sense of humor." Taking advantage of the blizzard conditions, she pressed a button her wrist-guard and activated the device in her suit that hid her own heat signature, satisfied when her regime did the same. Then, she pressed a second, sending a signal over the landscape that disconnected and shorted out all of the compound's communications and surveillance.

At least, if it did was it was supposed to do. But Anna was confident. This Laufeyson was smart, but he didn't have the kind of pull Thanos did. Those who loved Laufeyson might fight, build and invent for his cause, sometimes...

And the results would vary.

But those who _feared_ Thanos _always_ would. And the results had better be...

_Perfect_.

When she was certain her measures had taken full affect, she signaled to her team. In one sweeping motion of her hand, the whole battalion of them rushed down the embankment toward the compound's entrances. Utilizing the images she's gotten from the Jotuns' minds, she rushed the East entrance, slid to a halt, and allowed for her second to catch up.

When the silent demi-god approached, Anna smirked. She halted the battalion with another solid motion of her hand, and then turned to Thor. "Well, sugah..." She brushed the snow from the entrance cover, and grinned, "how 'bout we get this show on the road?"

Thor looked at her with empty blue eyes and then, lifting Mjolnir with purpose, he swung, bringing the hammer down with absolution.

* * *

Natasha had found Loki's alcohol. The ale was smooth and sweet on her tongue as she allowed the crisp, burning flavor to traverse into her mouth and down her throat. However, upon discovering his tall, half-full flute of ale, she had also found a box.

It was old, and made of a type of wine-colored wood she'd never seen. Asgardian, she realized. She wondered what it had once looked like. Setting the box down and taking another, careful, drink of the stale, sweet liquid, she sat down at the table. Glancing at Frigga, who still slept—a deep, unconscious sleep that had not broken in the two days since Loki and his group had departed—she bit her lip. She shouldn't invade the privacy of Frigga or Loki.

But somehow, the box called to her. It stirred something within her that was uncontrollable and needed to be satiated. Setting her jar down, she carefully lifted the lid, and her eyes grew soft, and moist. Sitting on top of the items in the box was the photograph Loki had tried to give her. Picking it up with deft fingers, she studied it. Brushing her hands over it's smooth, soft plastic surface, she tried to remember each of her teammates.

One careful finger brushed over a goateed face, expression painted with smugness. "Tony," she murmured.

Another fingered a face full of worry-lines and sleeplessness—but it was smiling. "Bruce."

Her fingers moved with effortless grace over the picture and then paused on the smooth-faced, smiling expression of a man in red-white-and-blue. "Steve."

And then, her fingers lingered on the face of a man who's face had been so far away before. So far out of her memory's reach. "...Clint."

Finally, she let her fingers move over the last face, long-haired, blonde and scruffy. "Thor."

There was a sudden rumble that echoed through the compound and Natasha's head shot up. Her eyebrows knit together, brow furrowing deeply. She stood, taking very cautious, deliberate steps toward the door and peeking out. She stood for a long moment, listening for another—any other—strange sound and then nodded, satisfied when she heard none.

Returning to the table, she lowered herself into the creaking wooden seat once more and began to thumb through the box. There were more pictures. Pictures of the Avengers without Loki. Pictures of the Avengers with Loki. Newspaper clippings of the Battle of New York. Pictures of Thor with a woman—a beautiful woman with brown hair who left Thor smiling, perpetually. The woman's name lingered at the edges of Natasha's mind but she couldn't place it. Not yet, anyway.

Loki, she realized, had preserved all of these things for Frigga, she imagined. As she dug deeper, she paused, having reached out to pick up a photo and realizing, after a moment, that it was her. She looked taken off guard, but she was smiling. Her hair was tied back, and mussed, and she wore only a gray tank-top and a pair of spandex pants. Her hands were wrapped in bandages. Her face was make-up free.

"I was training," her mouth said before her brain could fully register. "I was training and Loki-"

_There was a flash. A flash of light as Natasha turned, pushing a few stray curls out of her face and turned from the punching bag she'd been throwing her weight into. Standing in the doorway of the Stark Tower gym was Loki, dressed in black jeans and a green polo, his long fingers twisted around a camera. He was smirking._

"_Are you serious?" she asked. "Don't take pictures of me right now! Where did you get that? How do you even know how to use it?"_

"_Oh come now, Agent Romanoff, give me a little more credit than that," he replied and as she approached him, her hands outstretched to take the camera before he could do any more damage, he snapped a shot of her. _

"_Ah! Are you kidding? Delete that!"_

"_I think not," Loki replied. "Look, it isn't so bad. Here..."_

_He showed it to her. Somehow, despite everything, despite even catching her off guard, he had managed to snap a photo of her smiling. She rolled her eyes. "Fine. Fine. Keep it then. But if I catch you taking pictures of me while I'm sweaty and gross again, I'll kill you myself."_

_A laugh, smooth as liquid, and as glimmering at gold, traveled through Loki's lips and he gave a bow. "Is that a promise, Agent Romanoff?"_

_The woman turned her profile toward him and smirked, before turning her attention back to her punching bag again._

Within the box, each picture he'd taken of her that day was settled. She wondered if anyone else knew about them. But as she thumbed through pictures of herself punching, kicking, flipping, twisting, she felt something loosen in her mind.

She saw herself as a ballerina.

She saw Russia in the coldness of winter.

She remembered the Red Room and all the devastation she'd caused.

Her ledger.

_"...dripping! It's gushing—gush—gush—"_

Her friendships.

"_Barton's been compromised."_

"_It's really not that complicated."_

"_Stark." _

"_What would you do if you knew you only had one birthday left?"_

"_I'd do whatever I want."_

"_...trusts me as far—far—far—"_

"_What's your secret? Yoga?"_

Her...heart...

"_...it's all the same to you-"_

"_Natasha...I..."_

"_-I'll have that drink now."_

Everything. Everything was coming back. All at once. All in one massive wave. She was remembering herself, her past, her team, and Loki. Most of all Loki. What a complex and twisted relationship they had had.

"_Why did you kiss me?"_

She was starting to understand why as she clunched her aching forehead, squeezing blue eyes shut and trying to block out the river of memories that flooded her mind.

"_Love is for children."_

Her eyes snapped open. _I was in love with him. I _am_ in love with him._

_But I was afraid. Because I was trained to...to..._

_Did he know?_

_Does he...?_

Natasha stood, her whole body dizzy with the overload of information, the entirety of her nerve-endings fried from the sudden rush of new memories—it was an overwhelming sensation, like coming home to an old friend, and running a marathon all at once. It left her exhausted, uncertain and somehow comforted.

She allowed herself to dwell in this feeling, closing her eyes and calling up her memories at will. Tears tickled the corners of her blue orbs and she smiled, suddenly. "Tony...Steve...Bruce...Thor..._Loki_..."

However, these thoughts were short-lived as another echo of rumbling—this one much louder—traveled through the compound again. Collecting herself, Natasha stood. Putting the pictures away, she placed the box back in the secret compartment, finished her drink, and smirked. "Loki, I thought I taught you better. Vodka is always the way to go. _Glupyye bogu_."

She closed the compartment and stepped through the door onto the scaffolding just outside. When she heard the rumbling again, in such close succession with the first, her suspicions grew. Suddenly, a group of men rushed up the stairs past her, shouting, prepping their photon rifles.

She couldn't tell what they were saying. They were elves and spoke in an alien dialect way beyond her. But she knew what shouting and weapons meant in body language. The rumbling was no spontaneous event. It was an attack.

Rushing back into Loki's room, she picked up her own rifle and slid her wristbands on, twisting the switch which fired them up, allowing the electric blue power to surge through them and into her body. Her blue eyes slid to the doorway and four more men rushed by in a frenzy, and she could hear the click-click of weapons and armor. Attaching her rifle to her back, she ran, in quick, agile strides, out of Loki's bedroom and followed the men up the stairways and through the twisting scaffolds and tunnels of the mines, toward the compound's East entrance.

As she rounded the last corner, though, which the group of men had rounded just moments, before, she skidded to a complete stop, automatically falling into an offensive stance when she noticed the sea of unconscious (or dead) bodies that lay in front of her.

A woman, with dark hair streaked only once with white, blue on the smoking business end of a photon pistol and smirked when she noticed Natasha appear. "Well, hello there, honey."

Natasha narrowed her eyes at her. "Rogue," she said, recognizing her immediately.

"It's Anna, actually. And I'm getting' real tired a'everyone callin' me 'Rogue'."

Natasha scoffed, rolling her blue eyes, condescendingly. However, her attention was immediately drawn to the man who floated down the tunnel after her. Sliding her foot back, she set her stance, firmly.

"Thor."

"Oh, don' mind him. He's got other business to attend to, don'tcha, sugah?" Anna murmured with a malicious smirk. She turned her pretty face to meet Thor's eyes, her expression darkening immediately. "Round 'em all up."

Thor was silent as he nodded his compliance. Swinging his hammer swiftly at his side, he allowed the force of it to throw him forward as he flew, swiftly, past Natasha and disappeared around the corner from which she just gave.

"Round _who_ up?" the redhead asked.

The distant screams answered her before Anna could.

Anna chuckled and began pacing, and suddenly, the two woman, both equally powerful, equally matched, and equally purposed, were circling one another. Anna swung her pistol around her finger like the cowgirls of old, while Natasha kept her body low and her hands out, never giving up the offensive.

"Now," Anna murmured, glancing out of the corners of her eyes at Natasha. "I'ma make this real simple. Give up Laufeyson. And...well, nope. That's about it. Give him up."

"Or what? You'll kill me?" Natasha spat at Anna's feet. "_Poshel ty , suka._ I'll _never_ give him up to you."

Anna paused, her expression growing impatient and dark. "Well then," she removed one of her gloves and tossed it aside, before raising her pistol to Natasha's head, "looks like we're gonna hafta do this the hard way."

Natasha's eyes narrowed, and her muscles tensed. "Bring it on."

* * *

"Well?" Loki asked, as he finished paying his last respects to Yngvild. He had covered her body in a thin layer of ice, said an Asgardian prayer and then, slowly, attentively, allowed his magic to course through his spear, into her remains, and carefully disintegrate what was left.

"There ain't nothing here, bub," Logan said. "Nothing that can help us anyway."

"What if that _is_ the clue?" Laura offered, looking at them. "Loki, you went all bat-shit insane just now because the caverns are longing for a a rightful ruler or something like that, right?"

Loki rolled his eyes, his expression clearly reading unimpressed. "Thank you for putting it so colorfully, Laura. Yes, I suppose that to be true. Go on."

"Well, if the royal family was just, say, dead, then _why_ aren't they lying in a cracked heap of ice and body parts like the queen mother was? _Where_ did the bodies go?"

"Wait, I believe I understand," Fandral quipped. "You think that woman-"

"Rogue," Laura and Logan added, simultaneously.

"-and Thor took the Jotun royal family."

Laura nodded, pacing the chilly confines of the safe-room, thoughtfully.

"Well, then, why wouldn't they take Yngvild?" Heimdall mused, crossing his burly arms across his barrelled chest, his ethereal eyes glancing from one member of the group to another.

The lot of them thought on this for a long moment, their minds reeling with ideas and theories, before Loki's sharp jaw finally shot up from its bowed position, his green eyes wide with understanding. "Because Yngvild is the only one who never liked or trusted me."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Laura asked.

Loki's eyes spun to her, immediately, his fingers tightening on his spear. "Yngvild never believed in my alliance with Ljot, or my other half-siblings. And because of that, she never invested much time or effort in learning about any of my exploits or endeavors. And she _never_ visited my city as the others had—save for Lyrn."

"Then why take Lyrn?" Logan queried.

"Lyrn's a prophetess. A valuable asset to anyone despite her lack of knowledge on me." Loki frowned. "Thanos means to use the Jotun royal family against me."

Laura opened her mouth to reply, but a sudden buzzing from the screen magicked into the wall caught the attention of the group, causing all eyes to turn to it. Suddenly, the blurred and fuzzy image of Natasha appeared before them, her hair mussed, her face bruised, a deep, bloodied cut where a bullet had grazed her sliced into her forehead.

"Loki!" she cried, relieved to see him—relieved to know she'd been able to get a hold of him.

"Natasha," Loki replied, approaching the screen swiftly. "Natasha, what is it? What's happened to you?"

"Lok—i." The video feed was cutting in and out. "We're—under—ttack—Rogue—Thor—"

"Natasha!" Loki cried, as the feed blinked in and out. His eyes jumped to the side of the screen, when he heard the heavy, clanging sound of someone trying to break down the door that was just off camera. Natasha's own eyes shot, nervously, to the door, calculating her next plan of attack, before she twisted the blue orbs back onto Loki.

Her eyes held something—a determination and understanding that Loki had not seen in them in a long time. Realization dawned on him, as those eyes melted into something apologetic and sorrowfully strong.

"You remember," he breathed.

Natasha closed her eyes, and smirked. "_Glupyye bogu_. Now—not—time. Need—come back. We're—outmatched. We—need—help!"

Suddenly, the slamming off camera ceased and was replaced by an angry crash of thunder, a tremendous flash of lightning, and the sound of metal being ripped away from metal. Then, the screen went dark, unable to withstand the interference caused by the sudden wave of electric energy that coursed through the room.

"_Natasha_!" Loki cried. He turned to his comrades, his eyes wide with fear, anger, and guilt. "We left them unprotected. The best of our best are in this room. Each of us—myself...what was I thinking, asking not one of you to stay behind?"

"Sire, this is not your fault," Heimdall murmured. "Your father _and_ brother would have done the same. This was a dangerous task should any of Thanos' ranks still be down here. And you said so yourself, you are the only one with the ability to get past the Jotun defenses. And Fandral and myself would not have let you come alone, either way."

"Father...brother..." Loki breathed, his mind reeling, his whole body tense with teeming rage. Rage at the situation. At the attackers. At _himself_. Then, something dawned on him. Something that nearly made him retch, furiously, it turned his stomach so.

His whole body shook, his eyes wide as saucers, his face pale and sickly. "Oh no..."

"What?" Fandral asked. "What is it?"

He turned his sickly looking countenance up to face his companions, guilt wracking his body in ways he never could have imagined.

"Mother."

* * *

Wow, long chapter!

"For whoever calls on the name of the Lord shall be saved." Romans 10:13

Russian phrases (using Google Translate)

_Glupyye bogu _= Stupid god

_Poshel ty , suka._ = Screw you, bitch

Please review.


	12. Chapter 11

I am sick. Like, really sick. Sore throat, cough, fever. It sucks. It's hard to concentrate when your that sick, so...I'll do my best to give you guys the chapter you deserve. Also, I want to thank all of my reviewers; I really appreciate you guys and your kind words.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

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Chapter 11

* * *

It took two days to trek back to the compound from the Jotun caverns. Loki would have just teleported, but he knew he didn't have the strength to carry the entire group of them, after his strange encounter with the Frost Giant throne room.

That, and his mind was racing. If he tried to concentrate his magic now, he may hurt someone.

Pulling their cloaks and jackets tighter around them as they traversed the frozen landscape, they moved in silence, each contemplating the consequences of Thanos' actions, and of their own. Fandral kept glancing at Loki, knowing and understanding that the prince was shattered inside—full of guilt, anger and shame.

He could see the way Loki's fingers tightened around his spear every now and then, and he knew Loki was fighting back the urge to fall into chaos—the chaos in his own mind that had caused a prince of Asgard to nearly destroy an entire race of Jotuns—the chaos which had caused a broken man to lash out at Midgard.

As they reached the compound, coming around the back, to the South entrance, their minds reeled. Smoke rose from deep beneath, wafting up from the ripped open entrance tunnel. A few feet from the smoking hole, lay the unscathed entrance cover. There was no dent or scratch on it but it was torn from the hinges of the tunnel, and each of them had to wonder what could have been strong enough to pry the sealed cover from its home so easily.

As they dropped, one by one, down the tunnel, the devastation became worse. Bodies were strewn from one end of the mines to the other; scaffolds, stairs and tunnels were wrought with corpses of elves, dwarves, even humans. Women. Children.

Anyone who hadn't been killed, they could only assume, had been taken. Taken to build up Thanos' forces yet again. Or to sacrifice to the Lady Death directly.

As they moved, slowly, through the tunnels, stepping over bodies, moving, carefully, through the compound, Laura checked each of them for a pulse, hoping that perhaps someone had survived. She was disappointed to find this wasn't the case. Finally, they paused in front of Loki's room and, with fear and anguish painted on his face, Loki opened the door, slowly.

Scanning the room with desperate green eyes, he slumped, defeatedly, against the wall nearby when he found the room empty, devoid of any presence, and ransacked from top to bottom. Tears filled his eyes—angry, foolish tears—and as he squeezed the orbs closed, he was unashamed to let them fall down his face.

Heimdall stepped in after him. "Loki..."

"_Silence_," Loki hissed. "I do not want to hear your blathering, Heimdall. Trying to convince me this isn't my fault. Look around you! Do you not see what they've done? And this..."

He gestured to the disheveled room. Shaking his head, he barked, "I was meant to protect her. Thor asked me to _protect her_, Heimdall. And I failed."

"Your mother is a strong woman, my prince. She has every inch the warrior's heart that your father and brother have. That you have," murmured the Seer.

"Oh, shut up," spat Loki and turned, sharply, on his heel, storming toward the door of the room. He paused in the threshold. "I have little patience for your empty words. For your speeches. I should not have left! My mother is now in Thanos' grasp..."

He paused, bowing his head deeply, fists balled, knuckles white, nails digging into his palms. Then, his eyes fell upon a photograph, one of many that was strewn about the room. Picking it up, his eyes glazed over with tears yet again.

It was Natasha, training.

So worried had he been about his mother—warranted, of course—that he'd forgotten that yet another woman he loved had been down here when Thanos' numbers had attacked. In fact, it was she who had brought the attack to their attention. And now, she may very well have been back in Thanos' control.

"Natasha..." he whispered, swiveling his head slowly to look at Heimdall. He showed him the picture. "My mother _and_ Natasha, Heimdall. Now, tell me yet again, why this isn't my fault?"

But he stalked out before he allowed the Gatekeeper to answer.

"_Loki_!" came the echoed cry of Fandral through the compound. His voice traveled up from the weapons workshop and Loki's brow furrowed as he tucked Natasha's picture into his tunic. Making quick work of the stairs, he paused in front of the crunched metal of the workshop door, his jaw clenching.

With slow, uncertain strides, he stepped into the workshop, and his heart nearly froze. There, on the floor, clutching her rifle, was Natasha.

Falling to his knees in front of her, he's lips parted, his mind racing, his whole body shuddering with fear. Was she...?

"There's a pulse, bub," Logan said, standing from his kneeling position to check the workshop. "Doesn't look like nothing's missing. She musta fought them off."

Fandral glanced at Loki from where he knelt next to Natasha, but then, something dawned on him and he stood, racing to his work station. Tearing through his supplies and paperwork, he began to panic. Twisting around from the torso, he looked at them. "My worst fear realized...Loki, the formula is gone!"

Loki glanced up at Fandral as he pushed his muscled arms up under Natasha and lifted her a little, inspecting her head for any permanent damage, before he pressed a kiss to her forehead and hefted her up into his arms completely. His heart beat wildly with anger and joy, rage and relief. His mother was, most certainly, with Thanos. But Natasha—his beautiful Natasha—was safe. For now.

In silence, Loki departed from the workshop, leaving Fandral gazing after him in silence. Part of him understood Loki's retreating into himself, but part of him wished that the prince cared a little more that Thanos now had his hands on the adamantium formula—something that a monster like that could use as a veritable weapon of mass destruction.

For now, however, Fandral would leave well enough alone. He knew, for all of them, the events of the last few days would need to process.

* * *

_Metal ripped from rusted hinges. A blinding flash of light._

_Natasha could feel the heat of the lightning. But she was never one to give up easily. _

_Her former teammate floated into the room and set himself on his feet. Natasha lay, still, on the floor, playing possum. Of course, Thor was no idiot. He clearly wasn't the tactician his brother was, but he was by no means a fool. Especially in battle._

_And she was sure Thanos had ordered them to kill her. She knew to much. She could compromise him. Honestly, she'd rather die than go back. She never wanted to be a puppet to anyone's mind games again. She'd dealt with it in the Red Room. And with Thanos. Never again would be someone's pawn._

_Thor lifted his hammer to finish the job, just in case, but she was faster, swiping his feet out from under him, causing him to stumble, and for Mjolnir to fall to his chest, pinning him just long enough for her to jump up and charge out. A Chitauri rushed her, and she leaped, grabbing the railing of one of the scaffolds, twisting around the pole and throwing herself onto its shoulder. Wrapping her legs around it's neck, she swung her body, flipping the creature to the floor, listening to the satisfying crack of its neck._

_Then, she went on. She gunned down six more, before reaching Loki's room. She'd made him a promise. She had to protect Frigga._

_Roundhouse kicking one final Chitauri, she flew into the room, slamming the heavy metal door open with strength she hadn't tapped in decades. She paused, suddenly, her eyes wide. Frigga stood, looking weary, holding a sword Natasha hadn't seen before. Her back was to Natasha._

_In front of her were three Chitauri operatives, flanking Anna, who stood, smirking, watching the queen with a malicious amusement. _

"_Hello, Agent Romanoff," Anna said. _

_Frigga's head turned, suddenly, and she glanced at the woman behind her. Relief flooded her. "You remember."_

_Natasha gave a curt nod and then lifted her rifle, pointing it at Anna, her wristbands whining with power. _

"_What do you plan on doin', sugah? Even if you kill me, Thor's still out there."_

_Frigga's eyes widened. "He's...here?"_

_Natasha cocked the gun, the photons shrieking to life. _

"_And so are Thanos' Chitauri," Anna murmured. "You're outgunned, Romanoff. Give up."_

"_No way in hell."_

_Anna smirked. "Too bad, sugah."_

_It came quickly. The blow. Thor's hammer came down on her head with a force that might have killed her. Except she, in the last moment, before she blacked out, could tell he hadn't given it his all. Perhaps seeing his mother had stayed his hand a little._

_But, as she lay there, dizzy, drifting between the darkness and consciousness, she watched the blurred vision of the warrior queen, the woman's eyes trained, firmly, on Thor._

_She could hear Frigga speaking, and she could tell Thor was listening. But in her compromised state, she only caught bits and pieces. It didn't help it was in Norwegian._

"_Down—deep—below—brother—father—son. Do—not—fail."_

_Natasha was unsure what it meant. But it seemed to spark an ember, however small, in Thor's blue eyes._

_She knew not if anything came to fruition though, as in the next moment, she blacked out, still clutching her rifle to her._

Blue eyes fluttered open and she was acutely aware of the fact that someone was dabbing warm water against her head. As the solidity of life began to return to her vision, green was the first thing she saw. Green and black.

_Just like in my dreams. You were always there._

"Loki."

Green eyes, which had been focused on the dipping the warm, moist rag into the rusted metal basin full of water, slid to her. A subtle flood of relief filled them, but it was masked, mostly, by a pensive sadness that she couldn't quite place.

Then, it dawned on her. "Your mother?"

"Gone," was his curt reply as he pressed the rag to her forehead again.

"I'm sorry. I tried to save her." She closed her eyes, tucking her head deeper into the pillow, feeling it throb where Thor had struck her. "It's my fault."

"It isn't," he said, shortly, and when she opened blue orbs, he did not meet them. Her brow furrowed.

"Loki-"

"It's mine," he said, finally. He removed the rag, finally, and dropped it, gently, into the water, before standing. In the corner of the room—her room, she realized—he'd set up a small, electric hot-plate, where a tea-pot was bubbling and boiling away. Without much thought to his hands, he picked up the pot, and poured her a cup of tea.

"Loki," she repeated, shifting into a sitting position against her flimsy pillows. "You can't do that to yourself."

"It will heal," he said. Her eyebrows slammed down in annoyance. _I'm really getting sick of his short one-word-or-sentence answers._

"I didn't mean burning your hand, you ass," she spat. "I meant blaming yourself for your mom. You did what you had to do. The Jotuns are your family, too-"

There was a sound of loud clattering and sloshing as Loki slammed the tea pot back down on the hot-plate, his eyes gazing, glaringly, forward at the wall in front of him. He did not look at her as he spoke.

"The Jotuns are nothing but reluctant allies to me, and I will _never_-"

"Stop it!" hissed the woman. "I know you _better_ than that, Loki. I _saw_ the change in you a century ago. The god I knew would have tried to repair his relationship with his birth family. And he _did_. Whether you want to admit it or not, you didn't go into those caverns _just_ because of Thanos. You were _worried_ about your brothers and sister."

"And that is why!" Loki barked, turning to her finally, spilling the tea he'd just poured for her in the swiftness of his turn. "That is _why_ it is my doing, Natasha. I was _selfish_. I left her—and _you—_unprepared because I...I..."

Natasha shook her head and waved him over, patting the edge of her bed, invitingly. Loki drifted to the bed, his head bowed in guilt, and lowered himself onto the worn mattress. Natasha reached out and brushed her fingers into his unruly hair, murmuring, "Because you love hard, Loki."

Loki looked at her, brow furrowed.

"You love your brothers and sister, don't you? And you were afraid to tell your mother because you thought she might feel..."

"Betrayed," Loki finished, a tear drifting down his face. "She was the only one who ever understood who I was, though. Who I _truly_ was. She loved the monster."

"Loki, you're not a monster."

"Perhaps not," Loki murmured. "Not anymore."

Natasha was silent, then, as she remembered the devastation Loki had caused in New York. But she also remembered all he had done to help the Avengers as redemption for his crimes. And she remembered...

"Hey," she began, her fingers still playing with his hair. "Can I ask you something?"

Loki's face twisted to look at her, his eyes sad—sad but curious.

"There was a night," she said, her head dipping a little, long tendrils of rose-red curls falling into her eyes. "And it was one of the first memories I dreamed about...on this night, you came to me..."

"I came to you many nights, Natasha," he murmured, offering a dry chuckle. "You were, for all intents and purposes, my only friend during my stay in Stark Tower."

"Now, I know that's not true. You got along with Bruce and Tony after a while. Even Steve warmed up to you," Natasha replied.

"I suppose it was just your Clint Barton, then," Loki murmured, gazing at her out of the corner of his eye. "He never did seem to like me."

"Well, Clint was always good at holding grudges."

"And you? Why did you not harbor such a grudge as his?"

"Because I was always good at second chances," Natasha offered. "I've done things, Loki. And you know what they are. Things almost as unimaginable as the things you did. What kind of hypocrite would I be if I didn't offer you what I was offered? Especially when I knew you could change—that you _were _changing. But now you're getting me off topic!"

A soft laugh bubbled up from Loki's throat, the sound like creamy silk. Natasha remembered always liking his laugh. It was a Trickster's laugh—soft but full of amusement.

"Natasha, I remember the night you speak of. I know exactly to which one you refer. There would be no other night you might site in such a voice as this...but I wonder...why do you bring it up?"

Natasha rolled her eyes at him and shifted, pulling his head down into her lap and allowing her fingers to continue brushing and drifting through his hair. "On that night, you were going to tell me something..."

Loki's eyes softened, and his expression drifted far away—to a distant time, when problems were much smaller and to care for someone was not a danger. "Yes."

"What were you going to tell me, Loki?"

Green orbs fell closed and a sardonic smile spread across his face. "What an absurd question for a woman who claims to be so _apt_ at reading others."

Natasha frowned. "Loki, please."

"Though, I must say, I was rather apt at reading you that night," he continued. "The fear in your eyes when you believed I might actually place the burden of my feelings so blatantly on your shoulders."

"Loki..."

He opened his eyes, finally, their gaze turned directly upward, at the ceiling. "...I could not bear to be the reason for your fear, again."

"So, you lied. About our friendship."

"There is a reason I am called the Liesmith, my dear," he murmured and then shook his head. "But no. I was, and always will be, grateful for your friendship. But my goal was to grow as a person and as a man. One too many times in my life had I been deemed childish."

_Love is for children._

Natasha's frown deepened, causing deep creases to form around her mouth, her heart thundering in her chest. She could practically feel the pain radiating off of him—the horrible guilt from losing his mother, the cold, clenching ache from having to keep his feelings bottled for a century. But what she deemed weakness she realized was his strength. Because he loved so hard, he fought even harder.

She needed to stop running. Running from the thoughts and emotions the Red Room had taught her were weakness. Loki was proof that these things were a lie. He, himself, had learned to love his family again after the revelation of their lie. He had learned to love _her _even when she had mocked the ideals of love.

He was proof that love could make one more a man then ever anything else ever could.

Closing her eyes, she bent herself forward, her lips mere inches from his, and smiled, apologetically. "Then, let us be childish together."

And she kissed him.

* * *

It was silent in the weapons workshop. Fandral was sitting at his workstation, glaring down at the metal table top, trying to will the adamantium formula back into existence. At the other end of the room, Logan was inspecting the weapons they'd recently developed for tampering, and to ensure none had been stolen.

He was pleased to find neither case was correct.

He glanced up at Fandral. "Take a deep breath, bub. We'll get it back."

"It will be too late by then," Fandral murmured. "Thanos wastes no time enacting the devastation of his mind and his demented love for Death."

Logan said nothing. He had nothing _to_ say. For once, he admitted, Fandral was probably right.

"We must not lose hope," came Heimdall's voice from near the door. "If we do, all the work our prince has done will be for naught. We must see beyond what our eyes behold—beyond what is right in front of us or we can never hope to win."

"Says the man who has his Sight no longer," Fandral replied, giving Heimdall a deadpanned looked.

Heimdall gave a small chuckle. "Then, it is more important for me than anyone, do you not think?"

Fandral offered a tiny smile, but said nothing.

"Moreover, our King, Odin, would not want us to lose faith," Heimdall murmured. "He had the most of all. He had faith that Thor would become every bit the heir Odin believed him to be. He believed peace could be attained and held by all the realms. He even believed that Loki, after all the horrors he enacted, could be saved. His faith was imeasurable."

"That reminds me," Logan chimed. "What about him, bub? His sleeping chamber, I mean. Has anyone checked it? To make sure none of Thanos' cronies tampered with it?"

"It would be most impossible to do," Fandral replied. "Loki's magic is nigh impenetrable. It would be impossible for anyone to pass through it, unharmed."

"Frigga did," Laura added, sitting, legs dangling, from one of the scaffolds above them.

"Yes, well, then I suppose that is something Loki would have built into the spell," Fandral replied, impatiently. "He's no fool. He's the most cunning man I've ever encountered. I'm sure he merely allowed for an exception for Frigga."

"Let's just say, for argument's sake," Laura offered, "that it wasn't just for Frigga, but for any member of Asgard's royal family who wished to visit Odin? Or, what if the spell _wasn't _foolproof and it mistook any member of the royal family for Frigga or Loki? Loki did say his magic had it's limits."

"What is this nonsense? There _are_ no members of Asgard's royal family lef-" He paused, suddenly, his eyes widening before he turned to Heimdall, recognition dawning on them both.

"Heimdall."

"No need to say more, good Fandral," Heimdall replied and disappeared out of the workshop with unnatural speed.

* * *

Loki and Natasha lay, side by side, on her bed for a long while. The silence was deafening, but swept them into a sort of luring comfort. There was so much both wanted to say to the other, but both knew nothing more needed to be said. _Childish_, they realized, was code for something so much bigger between them.

After what seemed like hours, but was perhaps only minutes, had passed, Loki propped himself up, his elbow resting against her thin mattress, his head tucked into his palm as he looked down at her. "I wish to offer my thanks for your part in protecting my people today."

Natasha smiled, her hair a mane of fiery red curls, cascading out around her head like a halo as it rested upon her pillow. "It's my job, Loki. Remember? I got red in my ledger—anything I can do to wipe it out, I will. But more than that...these people were innocent and Thanos has hurt enough lives."

"I also want to thank you for protecting the weapons workshop. A lot of that technology would have been deadly in Thanos' hands. It's just a shame they escaped with the adamantium formula."

"Loki, I didn't-" She began, but something else dawned on her. "Loki, did you say they left with the formula?"

"Yes."

"And there's no other copies?"

"Not that I am aware."

Natasha grinned. "Yes, there is." She rolled over, suddenly, her back facing him, as she rummaged around on her bedside table. Then, carefully, she drew a crinkled piece of parchment from the table and handed it to him.

"This...this is the formula?" Loki blinked at her.

"Remember? The night I tried to abscond with it! You caught me...you...shook me up. And then you let me go _with_ the formula. But I never left. I never did anything but let you get under my skin," she murmured. "And I kept it."

Loki's eyes lit up, a small semblence of hope returning to them. Then reality dawned. "But Thanos still has a copy of the formula."

"Yeah, but he doesn't have anyone who knows how to work with adamantium. You've got Logan and Laura. You've got Fandral. Anyone he might have who understands the stuff, he'd have to give their memories back in order to work with it. He's two steps behind."

Loki smirked and pressed his lips firmly to hers. "You truly are a wonder."

Natasha grinned, and then her mind swung back around to the beginning. "Now...what did you mean about me protecting the weapons workshop?"

"That is where we found you. Sprawled out on the floor, clutching your rifle. We also found the weapons we'd built untouched. Nothing was taken. We assumed you'd fought them off."

"Loki, I was knocked unconscious by Thor in _your_ bedroom. Trying to protect your mother. I never went anywhere near the weapons workshop."

The Trickster's long, pale brow furrowed as he looked at her. "You're certain?"

"Uh, pretty certain."

"Then, who-"

"Your majesty!"

Loki's head jerked upward as Heimdall rushed into Natasha's room, his chest heaving, his breath coming in raggedly as if he'd just sprinted up an entire mountainside.

"What is it, Heimdall?" Loki asked.

"Your father's chamber—you must come, _quickly_."

A new bout of fear rose in Loki's heart and he stood, swiftly, from Natasha's bed. Natasha twisted her body around to follow, but she felt the gentle touch of Loki's finger on her arm.

"No, please," he murmured. "This is something I must do on my own."

Natasha's eyes swam with countless emotions, but she offered him a soft nod, a thimble of understanding drifting into blue orbs. She settled back into her pillows.

Loki glanced at Heimdall. "Watch over her, my friend. I will return." With that, he lifted the spear he'd set in the corner, carefully, and left the room, his footfalls swift, firm and determined.

* * *

The space just outside Odin's chamber was silent, save for the whizzing of old, rusted pipes and the whirring of electricity moving through the mines as it always did, thanks in large part, to the furnace a few rooms over. Loki observed no difference in it as any other day.

That is, until he approached the door. And realized, it hung open, slightly. He could still feel the power of his magic twisting, as strongly as when he'd first placed the spell, around the door, and so, as his heart thundered nervously in his chest, he had to wonder who had been able to pass the barrier unharmed, without breaking or diminishing the spell.

Stepping forward, carefully, he pushed the door open, gripping his spear tightly, allowing his magic to flow through the runes into the blade, as he stepped inside. The room was silent, and Loki felt a thread of relief to find Odin had not been taken. Laying, motionless, in his casket, he slept on, oblivious to the world around him.

However, sitting next to his proverbial deathbed was a new mourner. Head hung low, blue eyes moist, and face streaked with tears, a head of grungy, blood-stained blonde hair turned upward, slowly.

Thor.

Loki turned his spear, twisting it from its vertical position, to a horizontal one of offense. He was unsure how much he could trust this man at present. Despite the pathetic look of him, Loki wondered if he was taking a page from his own book. If it was all but a trick.

That is, until he spoke.

"Brother," Thor choked, hoarsely. "How long has he been like this?"

Loki swallowed down the lump that crawled, harshly, into his throat and lowered his spear, looking, carefully, into those blue eyes again. "Do you truly remember? So quickly?"

"It was difficult not to," Thor began, his voice wet with tears, "when I saw him as such."

"How did you find this place?"

"Mother sent me," he replied. "I was still under Thanos' control when I came down here. My ideal goal, when I first laid eyes on him, was to take him back to Thanos. But the longer I gazed on him, the more and more the memories laid themselves out in front of me."

"I suppose Thanos' control wears differently on everyone," murmured the younger.

"I saw his anger, and my exile. I saw Jane. I saw you. The Avengers...and then I began to remember the devastation I caused. I used Mjolnir as a weapon of death...I killed innocents, Loki. People I had sworn I would protect. Because I could not stop myself...because I could not _be_ myself." He choked on a sob. "He would be ashamed of me."

"_No_," Loki said, firmly, approaching his brother, swiftly. A gentle hand came down on Thor's shoulder, squeezing firmly. "He would _forgive_ you, my brother. As he forgave me. I have committed far worse travesties than you, and Father _always_ forgave me. And I... I was well aware of my actions. But you were under someone else's control. This is _not_ your fault."

Thor said nothing in response; he merely continued to gaze upon his sleeping father, sadly. "How long, Loki?" he repeated.

Loki was silent and then: "...a century."

"He has not woken, even once?"

"No. Mother and I fear...he may be..."

"_No_," Thor growled and stood. "What happened, Loki? What happened to the world I once loved? _Both_ of the worlds I loved? I saw...I may not have been myself, but I saw. Everything is a half-formed mish-mash of what it once was. What _happened_?"

Loki had no reply. What could he say? Could he explain a century's worth of pain and suffering in a few sentences? He just shook his head, uncertain how to explain anything and everything to Thor in any kind of plainness.

Thor looked at him, frowning, and a fearful thought dawned on him. "Loki...brother..."

Loki glanced up at him.

"Is this Ragnarok?"

There was a pregnant silence between them, before Loki shook his head again. Slowly, with a low, uncertain voice, he replied:

"No. Somehow, I fear it's much worse."

* * *

"Wisdom is better than strength. Nevertheless, the poor man's wisdom is despised. And his words are not heard. Words of the wise, spoken quietly, should be heard rather than the shout of a ruler of fools. Wisdom is better than weapons of war; but one sinner destroys much good." Ecclesiastes 9: 16-18

Please review.


	13. Chapter 12

I should be doing homework. My quarter is almost over. But that would require dragging my still slightly sick butt across my room and getting my textbook. I don't wanna do that right now. So...chapter! Here we go!

Disclaimer: Really, no ownership privileges have been instilled on me. This is all for the enjoyment of fangirls (and boys) everywhere and nothing more!

* * *

Chapter 12

* * *

"_Frigga."_

_Odin? My love..._

"_Awaken, my queen. Awaken."_

_Where are you? Odin? Odin!_

Eyelids fluttered, drifting up from over ethereal blue eyes, as Frigga returned to consciousness. Her body felt heavy, her mind reeling. As she tried to shift, she realized her arms and legs were shackled and her back was pressed firmly against something cold and metal. A table. She was bound to a table of some sort.

Shifting her gaze around, she tried to break free of the bindings to no avail. She heard the hiss of an automatic door sliding open, and, in the darkness of the room, she tried to identify the room's entrant.

"Hello, my _queen_," spat the stranger's voice, and he was a stranger to her no longer.

Frigga closed her eyes, stomach twisting sickly, heart pounding like thunder in her chest. She knew that voice. It was the voice that haunted her dreams—the voice of Asgard's downfall and Odin's eternal slumber.

Thanos.

Her eyes drifted open as the lights began to shift on around her, and she felt the angry chill of the heartless creature approach her, his hulking form circling her like a rapid dog, a deep, malevolent smirk stretched across his carved features. He was carrying Odin's sword—the sword she had tried to ward off his troops with.

"What a beautiful weapon." His voice was like a nails on a chalkboard—an uncomfortable, grating sound to her ears. "A weapon fit for a king."

Frigga said nothing. Her face merely twisted into an angry shield of distrust and silence, her jaw clenched, firmly.

"I suppose it's a good thing, then, that it has fallen so easily into my hands," Thanos continued. "How is your husband these days, my lady? Does he still sleep?"

Frigga clenched her jaw so tight, she feared she may break her own teeth. Her eyes brimmed with tears but in her strength, she blinked them back. _Heinous creature._

"And your son?"

_Don't you dare speak of Thor as if you don't know what you've caused._

"I see that look in your eyes," Thanos murmured. "I don't mean your precious Thor. I mean the other."

Frigga's eyes widened and she twisted her head to gaze upon the hideous beast of a Titan at least.

"This world's _savior_. Monster _made_ savior." Thanos barked out a laugh—a mocking sound. "It's only a matter of time before he sees reason. He can never be made whole, no matter how you or the little Widow spider wish he could."

_That's where your wrong, monstrous one._

"Or perhaps he already has?" Thanos queried, before moving closer to the shackled queen. He pressed the blade of the sword to her neck, breathing warm, stinking breath over her beautifully beaten face. "Well, I suppose that's where _you_ come in."

Frigga's blue eyes widened as realization of his words flowed over her. As the smallest trickle of blood dribbled down her neck, she realized:

_This is a trap. And I am the bait._

* * *

"Heimdall. So, you're the Gatekeeper."

Heimdall let his eyes slide to the woman in the bed. "I am. Or rather, I was, when Asgard flourished."

Natasha nodded, silently, pursing her lips a little, shifting awkwardly atop her mattress. She was trying to make conversation until Loki returned but the dark-skinned AEsir was a hard nut to crack. It wasn't that she couldn't read him—he just _radiated_ loyalty and strength—but she could tell he wasn't much for talking. Perhaps due, in part, to the isolated existence he once assumed on Asgard. It must have been a lonely kind of life, standing in one place for millenia, speaking only to those who came and went through the Bifrost gate, never getting to join the fun and beauty of what Loki had always described as "grand feasts and glittering parties". She sympathized with him.

"You, uh, must've been pretty good at your job, if what Loki says about Asgard is true."

"And what does my prince have to say of his former home?" Heimdall murmured.

"He says it was a beautiful, peaceful place," Natasha replied. "He said the sky was like a painting—brushed in strokes of purple and orange. Always the color of sunset, or sunrise. And that flowers and trees were always in bloom. He said children played on the streets without fear, and that the palace was like a bouquet of spikes and spires, looming over Asgard's many towns like a comforting shadow of protection."

Heimdall smiled a little.

"He also realizes his part in it's downfall," Natasha replied. "And how difficult he made your job with his magic."

Heimdall let out a soft chuckle. "He was quite the irritation to me. The only one who could slip my watch so easily." His expression darkened, quickly. "However, he is not responsible for Asgard's downfall. If anything, he gave me the information I required to keep our home safer."

Natasha tilted her head, curiously.

"He informed me of the pathways between the worlds that were not connected directly to Yggdrasil's branches. Because of this, I was able to train myself to See a few of these pathways more clearly," Heimdall replied. "However, there are many millions of these pathways and without thousands of years of training and concentration, I could not see them all. I was unable to ascertain which pathway Thanos utilized."

"I'm sorry."

"It's alright," murmured Heimdall. "As with my prince, I carry a certain modicum of guilt toward the downfall of our home and these Nine Realms."

"You shouldn't." But her face carried its own glimmer of guilt—guilt that the Avengers couldn't stop Thanos. Guilt that she had let herself be a tool. Guilt that her fellow Avengers may still be under Thanos' control.

Heimdall noted the change in her expression and nodded. "We all have our burdens to bear, Lady Romanoff. It is how we shoulder them that defines who we are."

"Well said, Heimdall," came a voice from the doorway, and Loki reentered Natasha's room, his bootfalls soft against her floor. He kneeled near her bed. "How do you feel, my dear?"

"Better. Except this knot on my head," she murmured, sitting up and massaging the large bump that was still quite present beneath her mane of red curls.

"Yes, well," a second voice chimed, sounding sheepish and apologetic, "I do apologize for that, Agent Romanoff."

Natasha's eyes flashed over Loki's shoulder to the blonde-head, burly shoulders and tapered waist of the man in her doorway. Sliding her eyes, quickly, back to Loki, her jaw fell, her mouth an 'o' of shock as she stared at the younger AEsir, questioning.

"He remembers," Loki replied, simply, before waving Thor into the room. "And he wanted to apologize for hitting you."

"Mjolnir is, primarily, a tool to build," Thor added. "It shouldn't be used as a weapon unless necessary. That is what my father always tried to instill in me. I...I am truly sorry, Lady Natasha. Truly."

Natasha wasn't sure what to say, but as she ascertained the guilt in Thor's eyes—guilt that was deeper than simply knocking her unconscious—she felt a certain understanding toward him. She had once been Thanos' pawn. With a tiny smile, she nodded. "I know, Thor. It's okay."

"I, for one, am eternally grateful, brother," Loki murmured, glancing up at him. "You saved her."

"You would have done the same," Thor replied, "for Jane."

"He did," Heimdall offered. "Jane was one of the first souls he ushered away from Thanos after he saved myself and your mother."

Thor's eyes widened and he looked at Loki. "Is this true?"

Loki gave a small nod. "I sent her away as quickly as I could. I know not where, my brother, I am sorry. But I know she is—or was—much safer where I sent her than she would have been here."

Thor's heart sank, heavily. There was the smallest of chances that, after a century of isolation, his Jane may still be alive, somewhere, where the laws of Yggdrasil's branches do not rule over Midgardians as they once had. However, in the deepest caverns of his heart, where her love was like vitality and strength to him, he knew...

He knew she was gone.

Natasha watched the expression on Thor's face grow sad and lonely, and she frowned. She had the strongest urge to apologize on Jane's behalf, but she shook the feeling away. She knew it would only hurt him worse. Instead, she opted to change the subject.

"So, what do you mean when you say he saved me?"

"Remember when I thought you were the one who defended the weapons workshop?" Loki questioned, smirking knowingly at Thor. "Well, it appears that after my brother allowed his memories to return, he also remembered my...affinity for your existence. He returned to my room..."

His voice trailed off, his smirk falling to pursed lips, his eyes growing distant. "His initial goal was to save you _and_ our mother but..."

"Mother had already been taken by Rogue," Thor added, frowning.

Natasha shook her head. "So, you kept them from killing me?"

"Killing you?" Thor shook his head. "It was never Thanos' strategy to kill you. You were his strongest general. He meant to reclaim you."

Natasha's heart shuddered, suddenly, in her chest and she sank deeper into her pillows. "O...oh?"

Loki's hand slid up into hers and squeezed. _I will not let him take you again_, the gesture said.

"How...how am I here then?" she asked, quietly.

"Because I would not let them take you," Thor replied. "Because you were my friend and teammate. Because you held my brother's heart."

"_Thor_," Loki hissed, blushing darkly.

"And the weapons workshop? How'd I end up there? And how'd you know that tech needed to be protected?"

"I saw the Chitauri ransacking it as I made my way from Father's chamber back to Loki's room," Thor murmured. "I recognized the metal those weapons were made of immediately. The only Midgardian metal able to withstand Mjolnir's strike. I knew if it fell into Thanos' hands...he would have a dangerous advantage.

"So, I made my way, quickly, to Loki's room, took your unconscious form and carried it to the weapons workshop. I put you down where I could keep you safe, and fought off the remaining Chitauri. I fought them with all my strength, not allowing them to leave with even once piece of weaponry. After a while, they stopped coming. I assume Anna—Rogue—called for them to fall back. After that, I retreated into Father's chamber, but only after I was certain there were no hostiles left."

Loki noticed the way Thor shifted, fidgeting. He knew that, despite this one act of heroics, the guilt of his countless acts of villainy wore on Thor, heavily. He knew, because he understood. He knew because even a century of right-doing could not erase even one single moment when he'd done wrong.

However, he would not let Thor forget the many acts of heroism he had performed. Nor would he let his gratefulness toward his saving Natasha fall on deaf ears. He would _always_ be thankful to Thor, every moment, for her life.

Standing, silently, he placed a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder and nodded, and as Thor offered him a half-hearted smile, it was enough.

For now.

* * *

Logan was fiddling with an adamantium plated photon pistol, contemplating the next plan of attack on their part, before his eyes traveled up into the scaffolding and he furrowed his brow. Laura was swinging her legs, her chin resting against the railing, her gaze distant and far away.

Logan placed the pistol down and climbed up onto his workstation table before leaping up onto the scaffolding with her. He slid down into a seated position next to her and murmured, "Hey, what's up, L? You look far away."

"I think I'm an idiot," she replied, quietly, watching Fandral tinker at something insignificant as he tried to balance his anger and fear ambivalently within his heart. Logan knit his brow together.

"How so, kid?"

"I don't like that woman," Laura murmured. "I haven't since the beginning."

"What woman? Rogue? It ain't her fault that-"

"_No_," Laura growled, clutching her fingers tightly around the railing in front of her. "Natasha Romanoff."

"What? Why? She's a good woman. She's an Avenger," Logan said, "and Rogers always had good things to say about her. 'course, I think that's 'cause he was crushin' hard on her. I think that's why it took him so long to warm up to—"

He paused, a light bulb flipping on inside his mind suddenly, upon thinking of Steve's actions. Letting his head twist, slowly, on his neck, he looked at Laura—his partner, his _daughter—_with a father's eyes. "—Loki," he finished.

Laura blushed, darkly, and lowered her head a little, refusing to meet his eyes.

"Laura, do you..." Logan began, and being who he was—both her father and the Wolverine—he was having a hard time finishing the sentence without the innate urge to vomit in his mouth a little—or run his claws through Loki. Whichever came first.

"Yeah," Laura mumbled.

"When did-"

"I don't know!" Laura snapped. "How am I supposed to know? It just _happens_, right?"

"Is that why you always give him such a hard time?" Logan questioned, fighting back the urge to smirk.

"Yeah. I figure it'll either get his attention or I'll actually develop some kind of real animosity toward him. Whichever comes first."

_Damn, she thinks a lot like me._ "Kid, you realize he's been in love with Natasha Romanoff for 100 years, right? There's no way-"

"I know, _I know_," Laura barked, whipping her head around to glare at him. "Don't tell me something I already know, Logan. It just makes it worse."

"Yeah, well, hating her ain't gonna make it any better. She's on our side. We need her help."

Laura sank back into her own mind, eyes drifting far away again, before she murmured, "I can't win. When I first came to Xavier's, it was Julian...but I was too conditioned by Weapon X for him to even give me a second look. And here, now, it's _him_. Except with him, I kinda knew from the beginning that I would never...that he could never..."

Logan slid an arm around his daughter, comfortingly, his heart swollen with empathy as he remembered Jean Grey, and how hard it was to love someone who would never feel the same in return. _You really are too much like me, kid. I'm sorry for that._ "Hey," he murmured, finally, "don't beat yourself up. Sometimes, you just can't help who your drawn to, bub."

Laura nodded.

"But," Logan continued, "you can't stand in the way of their happiness either. Believe me, I know."

"So, what you're saying is I need to stop hating Natasha Romanoff?"

"For _his_ benefit, and the world's. Don'tcha think, L?"

Laura groaned and let her forehead clank to the railing in front of her, the metal in her skull resounding with the metal of the rail. "Sometimes," she mumbled, "I hate it when you're right."

* * *

Fandral listened, cautiously, from below, smiling a little to himself at hearing of Laura's little school-girl crush. He had to admit that, in his day, on Asgard, Loki had not been exactly without female suitors. Thor, of course, gained many more, but Loki was not exactly unwanted.

As long as he kept his mischief in check. Most women don't really appreciate having their hair cut off and then grown back black, or having their favorite gown turned to rags. Which told Fandral that Loki himself was never really one to have a woman, or to keep one.

At least, not until the _right_ one.

Still, it wasn't completely surprising to see a girl as young as Laura drawing close to something solid in a world of chaos—something besides her own father. Loki was a rock among ocean waves—an iceburg in a raging sea. He was stable. Something Fandral _did_ find surprising, sometimes.

But Loki's heart had always belonged to Natasha since the Battle of New York. And it always would. In fact, Fandral knew without Natasha's deadly fingers wrapped around that fragile heart, it never would have grown strong enough to do so much—a century's worth of good.

Shaking these thoughts away, Fandral's face fell again as he set his screwdriver down and closed his eyes. Thanos had the adamantium formula. And as wonderful as love and romance were, Fandral's fear is that he would take the formula and use it to destroy those things—those and any other beautiful thing like it.

He glanced up, opening his eyes, when Loki stepped into the workshop. Making a bee-line directly for his workstation, the young prince paused in front of him and smirked. "My friend, I know you worry for our cause due to the formula's disappearance. But I have a surprise for you. Two, actually."

"This better not be one of your tricks, Loki," mumbled Fandral, offering Loki an impatient look, his eyebrow raised high, sliding one arm into the other across his chest.

"It would not be unlike me, of course," was Loki's cheeky reply as he reached into his tunic, "but no. Here."

Removing something from his tunic, he held it out to Fandral, directly. Folded and wrinkled, tucked deeply into Loki's long, slim fingers, was a piece of parchment. Fandral glanced at it, his raised eyebrow twitching uncertainly before he plucked it, carefully, from Loki's fingers.

As he unfolded it, placing all of his attention on the small, worn piece of paper, he did not see Loki slink out of the workshop with all the stealth and agility of his make, nor, in his sudden outburst of shock, in which he yelped, and nearly dropped the paper from shaking fingers, did he see Loki return with his second surprise.

"It's here! All of it! Loki, where did you-" As he looked up to finish his query, he paused his mouth, and froze, completely, in his place, his whole body suddenly overtaken with an uncertain fear. "Loki," he managed to choke, "it's-"

Thor blushed, sheepishly. "Um, hello, my friend. It has been quite a long time."

Despite himself, Fandral let himself relax a little, but his brow furrowed with confusion as he leaned in close, inspecting Thor with the scrutiny of one betrayed—whether intentionally or not. "Is it truly you?"

"It is. And I must see, it is good to see one of the Warriors Three alive and well," Thor replied, his face forlorn.

Fandral was silent, and he swallowed, hard. His eyes moved from the top of Thor's head to his feet and back again, and before he could stop himself, he felt his fingers balling into a fist, and that fist connecting with Thor's jaw.

Thor stumbled backwards.

Fandral gasped and shook out his hand, moving the bruised fingers with aching reluctance.

Loki merely stared, awestruck.

"I suppose," Thor began, rubbing his chin, gently, with his palm, "that I deserved that."

"That isn't just the compound," Fandral growled. "It is for Volstagg, Sif and Hogun. It for your mother, your father and Lady Jane. It is for _Loki _and all he has had to sacrifice and endure_. _But most of all, it is for the honor of Asgard. How dare you let Thanos taint that honor by taking your mind for his own? Are you not _stronger_ than that, Thor?"

"Apparently not," Thor mumbled, cradling his jaw in his hand a little.

"You are the crowned prince of Asgard. You are the rightful _heir_ to the throne..."

A twinge of jealousy filled Loki's heart, but he quelled it as quickly as it came.

"...and yet, you let Thanos make a mockery of you and all you stand for?"

Fandral's words shook now, as did his body. Yet, as his anger waned, he realized just how deeply he had missed this man—his brother in arms, his _friend—_and as tears filled his eyes, spilling over, he slapped his hand, perhaps harder than necessary, against Thor's shoulder, squeezing with the force of his heart's joy to find his friend alive and well. "You great _brute_, why did you not fight back? Why did you not come back to us—let us know you lived?"

Thor returned the gesture, before both released the other, swiftly. "I had no idea. He had me placed in some kind of sleep until I was a necessity to him. And by the time I had woken, I was already his tool."

"Well," Fandral replied, wiping his tears away. "It is good to have you back, my friend. My _brother_."

Loki smiled, a little sadly, to himself and bowed his head. _And so, the Warriors Three are reunited with their great King. Figuratively speaking. And Loki falls, again, into the shadows. But this time, it's alright. Thor was always the leader these people needed. _He lifted his head and glanced out the door toward the mine's twisting hallways, where corpses still lay, strewn. His heart felt heavy. _Obviously._

Thor smiled—a stretching, triumphant smile of gleaming white teeth. _His_ smile, before he turned to Loki and placed his free on, firmly, on his shoulder. "Well, brother, what is our plan of attack?"

Loki's head swiveled around to Thor and his brow furrowed, suddenly. "What?"

"Our plan of attack. Surely, we mean to go after Thanos. After all, he has our mother and a veritable weapon of great power within his grasp once he is able to decipher it. So, what is our plan?"

Loki pulled, gently, from Thor's hand and shook his head. "I don't have one," he replied, his back to them. Slowly, he turned, his green eyes boring into Thor's blue ones. "It is no longer my place nor my right to shoulder such responsibility, brother."

"How so?"

"You are Odin's rightful heir," Loki offered, twisting his long fingers into themselves, wringing his hands together, anxiously. "And more than that, you are more the warrior's stock than ever I was. It should be you who leads us to victory against Thanos."

_Once a Liesmith, always a Liesmith_, one of them had once said. One of those corpses. One of Death's sacrifices. And here he was, telling lies yet again. Only because of Thor. Always because of Thor. At least this time, however, it was for the betterment of the world he had come to cherish. As well at the people he loved.

He closed his eyes, ready to follow whatever orders and ideas Thor had to offer, when his brother's voice floated, like an steady breeze, into his ears:

"I cannot do that."

Loki's eyes shot open and slid to Thor, quickly. "What? Why not? Clearly, you are the better choice for this endeavor."

"No, brother," Thor murmured. "You are. You were always the more clever of us. If I had but listened to you more often—listened to your words of wisdom, or acknowledge your wit...perhaps I would have been more successful from the beginning."

Loki shook his head, and waved his hand, gesturing to the carnage just outside the door. "Yes, but you did not lack the sense to leave a whole underground city without protection—leave them to their _deaths_."

"No, I only lacked the sense of _self_ to be the whole killed them," Thor replied, his response coming out as a harsh bark rather than a sensible answer. "And _you_ have kept them all safe all these many decades, my brother. This is _your city_ and these are _your_ people and _you_ should be the one to lead our charge. You _deserve_ that much respect. _Especially..._"

He paused, taking a deep, calming breath, closing his eyes and bowing his head, respectfully, "...from me."

Loki's eyes widened, his whole body tensing. What was Thor doing? Such a gesture from the rightful king of Asgard? "Do not bow in any way to me."

"Accept my apology for my years of underestimating you. You are in every way the warrior I never believed you to be. In fact, you are twice the warrior, because you possess a warrior's spirit, a sorcerer's power and the wit and wisdom of a scholar," Thor murmured. "And I have never given you proper credit for that. And neither has our father."

"Thor, this isn't about-"

"I know it bothers you, brother," Thor said, softly. "I know it always has."

Loki closed his eyes, dragging his palm across his eyes, and then snapping his neck around so that Thor was gazing only upon his profile. He bared his teeth, letting out a soft growl, before he sighed and bowed his head. "Yes. Perhaps." Finally, he turned his gaze back to Thor. "But I thank you for your..."

"Faith?" Thor offered, smiling at him. "Yes, well, if I have not faith in you, why should I hope you would have faith in me?"

Loki returned the smile, however shaky it was, and nodded.

"So, then," Thor began, and grinned at Loki, "what's the plan?"

"Well," Loki murmured, and then blushed, sheepishly. "I wasn't lying—I haven't got one."

"Oh," Logan mumbled to himself from his spot in the scaffolding, "hell."

* * *

Loki came over the mine's P.A. System fifteen minutes later and sounded a general call—anyone still left alive after the devastation had occurred was to meet him and the others in auditorium. If they were going to come up with a plan, they were going to do it together, and they were going to need all the soldiers they could get.

Of the thousands of souls he had once been charged with, Loki was nearly sickened with the guilt of finding only one hundred or so had survived. And as that hundred—which included his tight-knit group of friends and loved ones—filtered into the auditorium, he began to try and concoct a plan.

"Hello, everyone," he said to the crowd. "As you well know, we have recently suffered a tragedy. Thanos and his legions have found our base of operations, and as such, we are very much compromised."

There was a general murmur among the crowd and many of their eyes slid to Thor, who turned his face from them, guiltily.

"We're on our last leg now, my friends. This is our final stand," Loki continued. "It's all or nothing now. We either end Thanos, or he will end us, I have no doubt."

Natasha watched him, eyes firm yet sad. A sort of reluctant resolve settled over the crowd. They knew the words to be true.

"I know you're all very tired." And so was Loki. It could be seen in the way he carried himself. He was tired. He just wanted to rest. "And you were all so brave, opting to stay and keep the operations of the mine—my operations—running smoothly, even while I sent your friends and family to safety."

All were silent now, eyes trained on Loki.

"I should not ask anymore of you," he offered, closing green eyes. "But I must. For, as I stand here in front of you, in truth, I speak: Thanos has my mother. And not just, but within his compound, he carries the might of many more heroes like my brother and Black Widow. All under his control."

Natasha and Thor shared a look—understanding.

"He will not stop unless we stop him," Loki said, finally. "And this will never end."

Silence met Loki, then.

Finally, someone stepped forward—an elven child, who had stayed behind with his elder sister as they were all each other had left. The sister was no where to be seen, but Loki remembered, poignantly, the way this young woman had begged to be part of his regime. How much she wanted to make a difference for her fallen family and friends. How she wanted to make the world a better place for her brother.

The boy was quiet, licking his lips nervously as he looked up at Loki. Then, with all the strength Loki was sure his sister had once had, he asked:

"What do we have to do?"

And the rest fell in stride, like dominoes, drawn to the boy's determination and courage.

And Loki, swallowing down his own fear, offered the boy a grin—Natasha recognized it. It was the Trickster's grin. But more than that, it was a confident expression. It denoted strength—even a little cockiness. It was as if Loki was offering the child strength itself.

And so, with his cocky Trickster grin, Loki kneeled, allowing himself to settle at eye-level with the child, his hand landing, gently, on the child's shoulder as he murmured:

"We fight."

* * *

"For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Walk as children of light." Ephesians 5:8

_Please_ review.


	14. Chapter 13

So, I'm not really sure how many chapters are left. I don't really _plan_ my fics. They just sort of come to me and I just _write_ until the characters get closure. I will tell you, though, I feel as if the end if near. Also, fret not, faithful readers, for I already have a new Blackfrost in the works! Anyway, enjoy the newest chapter of _Endurance_

Disclaimer: Do not own.

* * *

Chapter 13

* * *

It was quiet.

And it unnerved Loki.

For a century, he'd returned from his duties around the compound to the sound of his mother's voice or of tea or coffee brewing. He returned with the smell of food wafting through the room, or the metallic clack of children playing on the scaffolds or workers chattering and wandering through as they finished their shifts.

But now, as he wandered his room, using his magic to repair broken wall paneling, fix shredded mattresses and pick up scattered photographs, he noticed just how _quiet_ the empty compound was. Every now and again, he heard the slow clip-clop of boots against the scaffolds outside the room—the heavy footfalls of the few men and women left as they carried their dead to the surface to be buried and mourned properly, or of one of his own small group, removing corpses in a similar manner, when there was no family left to that person to do so.

But these sounds were the sounds of sorrow. They were not the hopeful sounds of an underground city who moved closer and closer to freedom.

Not yet, anyway.

As Loki picked up the last of the photographs from the ground by hand, he let his thoughts turn like a rotisserie within his mind, trying to grasp at a plan of attack, though he felt as if he were grasping at straws. For the life of him—and all those who mattered to him—he could not possibly find a cohesive and condusive idea that would get him and all he knew (and loved) in and out of Thanos' palace, unscathed, with their forces rising as the victors and Thanos falling under their might.

Not when he knew that so many of those he cared for were Thanos mindless servants.

"Hey."

Loki paused in his work, straightening his posture as his eyes shifted to the door. In the doorway, hair wet from the bath which darkened the red to a deep, rosy color and dragged the curls down with weight, was Natasha, dressed in a loose, black t-shirt and a pair of baggy, blue jeans. She looked unkempt but he found her endearing, dressed in clothes looser than he'd ever seen her wear. It was a testament to her beauty that she could look so desirable without having to show off every twisting curve.

"Good evening," he replied and gestured her inside, setting the pictures he had collected down on the table he had righted from its overturned position. As he moved around the room, finishing his work, Natasha drifted inside, taking careful steps before pausing in front of the table and looking down at the pictures. "This is how I remembered, you know."

Loki paused, suddenly, a broken tea-cup floating in mid-air. Waving his hand, the glass repaired itself, one piece fitting into the other as the cracks in it knit themselves back together. He let it float, carefully, onto one of the mattresses nearby and then turned to her. His eyebrow was raised in query.

She lifted a photo—the one she'd been looking at when she remembered. "This. Your little training session photoshoot." She gave a small chuckle. "If I had known then what I know now..."

"I admired you," Loki replied. "I had only ever known one other woman with as much warrior's dedication as you seemed to possess—a willingness to bend and break one's body for the improvement of oneself. But more than that, I..."

"I know," she replied. She knew how he felt. For either of them to say the words at this point would seem contrived. Placing the picture down, she approached him, pausing to examine him.

Unlike the flattering hug of his green-and-gold armor, his tunic hung loose over his toned structure, unlaced just a little around the neck to reveal a peek of the pale skinned chest beneath. However, she could tell, even with the loose material hiding his shape, that a century of battles and heavy lifting had built him up a little more than last she'd seen him. And as he pushed up the sleeves of his tunic to continue to work on the room, she noticed the tiny scars the traced up and down his skin, wondering if the rest of his body was marred just the same. In that moment, it was evident that she was not the only one who'd been bent and broken for the sake of improvement or betterment—except the difference was, she knew the betterment was not his own.

"You've done so much for these people," she whispered, grabbing his arm to pull him back into a standing position from where he knelt.

"Yes," Loki replied, refusing to meet her eyes. "And everything I have done has led to this—broken families, damaged lives and death."

"_Stop_ that," Natasha whispered, pressing her long fingers to his cheek, turning his sharp-featured face to look at her, blue meeting green. "You _saved_ countless more. How many of these people were you able to send away? Your knowledge of magic kept a lot more families together and safe."

"I wasn't here to protect them," Loki mumbled, his eyes falling closed. "I wasn't here to protect _her_. Or you."

"I don't _need _protecting, Loki," Natasha pressed. "You _know_ that. The reason I bend and break myself over and over again is so I never have to rely on-"

"_No_," Loki snapped, his eyes flying open, his hands jolting out to grab her shoulders, firmly. Green orbs boiled with anger. "Do not _ever _believe that you are without friends and loved ones who would break _themselves_ for your protection and benefit. You are _not_ alone. _Never_ again do you need to act on your own. Not while I breathe."

Natasha crossed her arms over her chest, a thin, red eyebrow jerking upward. "You look a little blackened, Mr. Kettle."

Loki's brow furrowed in confusion. "I do not-"

Natasha was reminded of Thor's reaction to the idea of flying monkeys, but she shook her head. "Nevermind. Point is...you gotta take your own advice, Loki. You're _not_ alone. And you don't have to shoulder this burden or _guilt_ on your own. We all want to help you."

There was a short silence.

"I want to help you," she murmured, finally.

A deep sigh shuddered out of Loki's mouth, his eyes trained on her face. He wasn't sure what to say, how to react. He _knew_ she was right, but his heart shivered with the guilt of so many lifeless faces and the fighting heart of a little boy who's sister was lost forever.

Natasha, softly, pushed his arms from her shoulders and then slid her own around his waist. She'd never really hugged him before, and to feel the hard, cold muscle of his AEsir-Jotun form pressed against her own made her shiver (and not from the chilly touch), but as she felt his arms circle her, reluctantly, she nodded. The embrace was more than simply a physical expression of their emotional connection; it was a comfort that she knew he needed—a faith in him that she knew he deserved.

And in that moment, he realized, in the scent of her freshly cleaned hair, in the press of her soft, warm bosom against his body, in the way her breath wafted against his neck, that no matter what travesties of which he believed himself guilty, there would be those like his mother and Thor—those like _Natasha—_who would always have faith in his ability to change—to grab hold of each and every second chance—and achieve _greatness_ with it.

"Thank you," he murmured into her hair.

He felt her smile against his shoulder.

It was enough.

* * *

"My friend," Thor began, turning his blue eyes to Fandral, where the warrior-turned-scientist was working on a new batch of adamantium, having started immediately after Loki's empowering speech. If they were going to fight, they would need all of the unbreakable, impenetrable, advanced weaponry and armor he could concoct.

However, at the sound of his old friend's curious voice, he glanced up from his calculations. "Yes, Thor?"

"Were you..." Thor began, trailing off, a deep frown creasing his bearded features. "...present when my brother rescued Jane?"

Fandral watched Thor's face twist and contract, as if trying not to imagine where Jane might be, or in what state. It was almost certain that the woman had passed on, and he could tell that was killing his friend a little.

Turning back to his work, he shook his head. "No, my friend, I'm afraid I was not. Your brother did not find me until fifty years or so ago. I was very adept at keeping under Thanos' radar." He chuckled. "Just not the radar of a hungry Bilgesnipe."

"Loki saved you?"

"Indeed," Fandral said as he mixed a few of his chemicals. "He fought the beast as mightily as any of the Warriors Three or our Lady Sif would have. I was in near perpetual shock when I realized it was him."

"You thought him still the monster he was on Asgard just after New York?" Thor queried.

"I did," Fandral replied. "Last we saw him, he was throwing insults at your father as you dragged him, nearly powerless, down the Bifrost back to Midgard. It was never really in any of our interests, save perhaps your mother and father, to question Heimdall as to his progress."

Thor was silent, turning a photon pistol over in his hands. Accidently squeezing the trigger, the photon zipped from the gun, pinging into another adamantium weapon hanging nearby and ricocheting toward Fandral, who ducked and watched as the photon bounced a few more places and finally faded.

There was a stunned silence as the men looked at one another, before they both let out a great, barking laugh, suddenly reminded of the days when such play was constant—the days when Asgard lived, strong and proud, and they had not a care in the world.

When the laughter died, Fandral was left with a lingering smile and tinkering fingers, as he continued, "However," he murmured, "when he saved me, I realized I had not given him enough credit. Offered him enough good faith, at home. He was clearly a changed man, and I would have been dead if not for it."

He glanced up from his work again, offering Thor a proud, gleaming smile. "He very much wanted to make your father and yourself proud. He ran this city with the ideals that you both put forth to him."

Thor nodded, returning his smile, if not a little half-heartedly. "I am most proud of my brother and his courage and strength these past decades." _I just wish I had had the same strength under Thanos control._

"Also," Fandral added as he finished his current batch of adamantium, placing the stagnant mixture on a nearby hot-plate to boil to the proper temperature. Then, he turned a firm expression on Thor. "Wherever he sent Jane, I can be assured it was a most beautiful and thriving place. He told me once that he hoped his magic would take those he sent away where their hearts most desired to be. And if Jane was all you described her to be, then she passed on doing good for others in a place where her strengths were glorified."

"I hope that is truly the case, my friend," Thor replied, his tone one of finality.

"As do I," Fandral offered as he turned to begin another batch, "as do I."

* * *

"I have a plan."

Loki's eyes opened, lids heavy from lack of sleep, but comfortably half-masted as he shifted where he sat on his mattress, back against the wall it was pushed up against—comfortable because of the welcome weight of Natasha's form against him.

Moving a little to keep his arms, which were wrapped firmly around her, from going to sleep trapped between her and the wall, he murmured, "And what of this plan, little spider?"

Natasha snorted, derisively, at the nickname but looked up at him, her blue eyes swimming with a contrast of determination and uncertainty. Her plan was good, she knew, but he wouldn't like it.

In fact: "You're not going to like it."

A slim, black brow raised, slowly, and curious green eyes followed each flick of her blue ones, as they studied his face.

His voice was calm: "I get the overwhelming feeling you're going to tell me, despite the fact."

Shifting out of his arms, she sat straight up, turning her torso a little to look at him where he sat, slumped against the wall, his feet crossed at the ankles. It was the second time they'd ended up sitting, silently, in a bed together, just taking in the warmth and comfort of the others presence. And she was about to shatter that comfort like an ugly mirror.

"It's me, Loki," she said, finally. "The plan is me."

"I'm not sure I quite follow, my dear," he murmured, folding his hands across his chest, the long fingers lacing into one another.

"You have to send me into Thanos' palace."

The speed with which Loki jolted up was paramount to any speed she, herself, despite all her training, could hope to accomplish. He was up so quickly, grabbing her shoulders, looking down into her eyes with such firmness that she thought he might break her himself just to keep Thanos from doing it.

But, he didn't. He just shook his head and stood, the curvature of his back as he bent his forehead into his palm suggesting his distain and disgust at the idea of ever putting her in so close a range to Thanos' reach again.

"Listen to me, Loki," Natasha continued, standing and pressing her fingers into his back, lovingly. "I know his palace inside out. I'm myself, yes, but I still have all of Natalia's memories. I was his top general, Loki. He trusted me more than anyone else. Once, very early on, before the memories began, he even called me his...mortal embodiment of Death."

A growl ripped from Loki's throat and his fist flew out, colliding, with weighted force, with the wall, leaving a heavy, angry dent in the metal. Then, he turned to her. "He was conditioning you," the Trickster hissed, eyes gleaming with the remnant of his past self—the self who hated the world but loved Natasha, "to be a vessel for _Death, herself_."

It was then that it dawned on him. "_That_ is why he wished you back. And yet, you wish to place yourself again within his reach. Have you no sense of self preservation, you foolish, volatile woman?"

"Says the man who came back to Earth after blowing up half of Manhattan and murdering countless people. What did you expect us to do? Welcome you with open arms and happy smiles?" spat Natasha in return. "But you came. You had the courage to-"

"_No_, idiotic woman, I had no choice!" was his angry reply. "It was either return to your foolish realm to offer reparations with naught but a small semblance of my powers to defend myself if need be or lay, bound, under the Great Snake and allow his venom to drip into my eyes for _eternity_. _Forgive me_, if I didn't wish the latter on myself. _I have_ a sense of self-preservation."

"You know what? _Bite me_," Natasha replied, glaring daggers up into his eyes, his tall form towering over her. "I'm just trying to help! You don't think I feel like Thor does? Like there are things I've done I swore I'd _never_ do again when Clint saved me?"

"Is this _love_, Agent Romanoff?" spat the now-jealous prince.

"_Screw you, you moron. Don't you know by now that I love _you!?" she shrieked in reply and they both paused, suddenly, looking at one another with shocked eyes, both shaking with fury that now waned. Both had known how the other felt. But this was the first time one of them had said it. Natasha never believed it'd be her.

Loki swallowed down a firm lump in his throat and he nodded. "I do," he murmured, his voice low and coarse, "and I, you. Which is why I cannot possibly send you into that situation again. I would...never forgive myself."

Natasha's anger cooled, quickly, and she reached out, touching his cheek with shaking fingers. "Loki," she whispered, "I'll be okay. I'm a trickster, like you, remember? I can make him believe I was always on his side. It might take me a few days but...I can get you and the rest of the group the layout of the palace. All the secret entrances, the hidden exits. I can make it a _real_ possibility for these people and the friends and family he has trapped to have freedom. _Freedom_, for the first time in one hundred years."

She stepped closer to him, pressing her form against his yet again, her head tilted nearly all the way back to look up into his eyes. "Please, Loki, let me try."

Loki's heart thundered in his chest and his brain screamed what a terrible idea this was. But, she was right. She as the only one with inside access to Thanos' whole operation. And though he loved her dearly, he knew (and she knew that he knew) that his duty to these people, as their prince and leader, was more important than that.

And so, with a heavy heart and a fear he may be sending her to death—more literally than he cared to think about—he nodded.

"Very well," he said, pulling her close to him, "...if you must."

* * *

"I do not condone this plan, brother," Thor argued, sitting in Loki's (now clean and repaired) room. His hulking form caused the already worn cushions on the couch to sink, deep, into the frame, and the springs to creak with each small movement he made.

Fandral sat on Loki's mattress at the far end of the room, nodding, quietly. Heimdall stood by the door, watching for unwanted intruders.

Natasha was standing in the corner, her hair, now dry, an expanded mess of frizzy curls, her face clean of make-up—as it had been now for days. Her hands were busy measuring out scoop-fulls of coffee into a dented metal coffee pot resting on Loki's hot plate. She shook her head, softly, as she poured water into the pot and flipped the switch on the plate.

"Nor do I, Thor," Loki offered in reply from his place at the table, his arm resting, gently, around Natasha's hips as she worked, his eyes focused on the group as he spoke. "However, the idea is sound, and as much as I detest sending her back under Thanos' gaze, it makes sense."

"Plus," Natasha added, smirking, "even if he did say no, I'd probably do it anyway."

Loki twisted his eyes to meet hers, an eyebrow raising at her. _Excuse me_, his face deadpanned.

"Come on, Loki," she said as she poured each of them a cup of coffee. "You knew that about me. I do what needs to be done. I-"

"-have your own code?" he asked, smirking in response.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "...shut up, you ass."

"Well," Laura chimed, darkly, sitting at the other end of the couch. Logan sat on the arm. She continued: "I think you're pretty ungrateful. All Laufeyson has done for you and you're willing to throw it all away to skip back to Thanos."

"_Laura_," Logan hissed, glancing at Loki, who's eyes grew dark. _How _many times would he have to hear that condescendingly Asgardian drawl tell him to keep Laura in check? He threw his daughter a look. _Keep your jealousy to yourself_, it said; it veritably _growled_.

"I don't think the Lady Natasha is-" Fandral began, but Natasha cut him off by raising a hand and shaking her head.

A patronizing and irritated smile stretched over Natasha's expression as she stirred a spoonful of sugar into Loki's coffee before placing the cup down in front of him. She was good at reading people. She wasn't foolish. Kissing the top of the man's head, she trailed across the room, handing everyone their cups before she paused, with her own cup and placed herself on Frigga's mattress, which sat directly across from the sofa.

"You're right," Natasha said, finally, looking directly at Laura. "Maybe it is a little ungrateful. Maybe it's a little reckless. Maybe it's even downright dangerous."

Loki sipped his coffee, green eyes trained to her, exclusively. Heimdall watched him watch her, and knew that what he didn't believe for a second that she was ungrateful. Reckless and dangerous, perhaps. But never ungrateful. And he knew that his prince felt nothing but grateful emotions toward her as well.

"But it's also the right thing to do," Natasha replied. "I'm just as responsible for the deaths in this place as Thor believes he is."

Thor shifted in his spot, uncomfortably.

"And countless more," she offered. "I may even be responsible for some of the lives under Thanos' control. So, I feel it's my responsibility to make things right. I have the power—I have the influence. And I have the general knowledge of the goings-on of Thanos' base of operations—his palace. I can get us in. I can get us out. I might even be able to get someone close enough to Thanos to take him out. Once and for all."

Logan nodded, and Laura lowered her head, feeling sheepish, suddenly. She was silent.

"But," Fandral murmured, frowning deeply at her, "it's practically a trap."

Loki swiveled his head around, slowly, unable to gaze upon Natasha any longer as his heart twisted in his chest, jumping up into his throat. Thor noticed, immediately.

"There is truth in your words, Fandral," Thor began, "but pray, brother, what do you keep from us? For at first, your eyes could not leave the object of their affection, but now, after Fandral's words, it seems impossible for you to look at Ms. Romanoff at all."

"As I said before," Loki murmured, his voice low and shuddering, "I do not fully support this plan, either, but it is...a sound plan. Trap or no."

"Then, what frightens you so, brother? Is it that she may die?" Thor asked.

"That seemed kinda a given for all of us, I thought," Logan murmured. "Especially inside Thanos' place."

Natasha and Loki were silent.

Laura glanced up at them. "No. No, there's more to it. I can _smell_ it. What's going on?"

Natasha finished her coffee and set her cup down. Glancing at Thor, she asked, "How much did Thanos tell you or Rogue about his reasons for wanting me back?"

"Nearly nothing," Thor replied. "Why?"

There was a distinct sound of glass cracking and liquid sloshing onto wood and all eyes turned to Loki, who's hand was moist with coffee, his fingers fisted around broken porcelain, his jaw muscles clenched so tight that nearly all the veins in his neck were visible.

Thor's eyes slid back to Natasha. "Lady Natasha?"

"Thanos doesn't just...want me back to take up my general position again," murmured the woman. "Loki theorizes..." Her gaze fell on the raven-haired demi-god, "...that Thanos may want to use my body as a living vessel for Death herself."

Thor's eyes darkened, a shroud falling over his expression. "Oh..."

"I don't get it," Laura mumbled. "What does that mean?"

"A few things," Loki said, watching the blood from his wounds trickle down his hand, mingling the dark color of the coffee and dribble down his arm. "Firstly, Natasha would be expelled completely. Her mind and heart would be completely erased. She would no longer exist in any capacity except in body."

The notion caused Natasha to shiver. She remembered being brainwashed by the Red Room. And then, again, by Thanos. Being outside of oneself for even a temporary amount of time was torture enough. The thought of being outside of herself for eternity—it nearly killed her inside.

"Secondly—and most frighteningly for everyone but myself, for I could care less if this world burned if those I loved were all safe," Loki continued, "—is that if Death were to take on a physical form...with all of the souls Thanos had been able to feed to her over the course of the century...she would be an imeasurable force. Unstoppable."

"But she'd have a human body," Laura offered. "Couldn't we just kill her?"

Loki's eyes snapped to her, the ferocity in them burning. "She is _Death_ itself. How do you propose we kill what is already Death self-proclaimed? She is _immortal—_a deity beyond even myself and Thor."

_And I...could never hope to try and kill anything that looked so much like Natasha, _he added to himself. It would not be possible—he would not have the strength.

"So, essentially," Heimdall murmured, finally. "We would be sending our Lady Natasha into a situation that _will_ turn the tide of this hundred-year war."

"Yes," Loki murmured, finally stealing a glance of the woman—_his_ woman. Then, he turned his gaze on all of them, all who were willing to follow him into hell, _all_ who were willing to put all of their faith in the woman he loved.

Then, with finality, he offered: "But for better or worse...is yet to be seen."

* * *

"And above all things, have fervent love for one another for love will cover a multitude of sins." 1 Peter 4:8

_Please_ review.


	15. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: I don't own anything.

* * *

Chapter 14

* * *

"This is suicide," Laura mumbled as she strapped a photon rifle over her back, clicking a utility belt made of adamantium and weighed down by gadgets around her waist. The group of them stood in the auditorium, suiting up with the new weaponry and armor that Fandral had provided for them. Her hair was pulled into a high, straight black ponytail and she wore a jumpsuit similar to Natasha's—found in one of the many rooms that Loki kept closed off.

"Am I the only one who finds it odd that Mr. Mischief kept all these old SHIELD uniforms?" Logan mumbled, avoiding Laura's statement as he pulled a jumpsuit of his own on.

"He was preparing for war," Fandral replied, happy just to wear his old battle tunic and armor, which he had been keeping for a moment like this. Sliding an adamantium sword into his own utility belt, as well as a pistol, he turned to them. "He kept them in case they were needed. They are, after all, specially made to resist many forms of offensive attack."

"Your knowledge of Midgardian science startles me, my friend," Thor murmured as he lightning leaped from Mjolnir, painting his body with his Asgardian armor, the chainmail weaving its way down his arms.

Fandral merely smirked, and then glanced up from pulling his boots on, his eyes falling on Natasha and Loki standing in the corner. Loki was adorned in his armor of old—the green and gold armor twisting over his form and reminding Fandral of the long-past Loki—the angry, bitter Loki.

He knew this would be the Loki of present should anything happen to Natasha.

Loki watched as Natasha zipped up her old Black Widow body suit, snapping an adamantium utility belt on just below the belt which was held, snapped, in the front by a small, hourglass shaped belt buckle. Pulling her red curls from within the suit neck, she let them spill down her back and then she turned to him.

"You look...familiar," she said to him with a playful smile.

"Save for the hair, I presume," he replied, his slightly curling black tendrils tied loosely with his mother's hairband.

She offered a small chuckle and shook her head. "It's fine. It...reminds me you're not the same man."

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow at her, feigning insult.

She shook her head again. "What I meant was-"

"I know, Natasha," he said, and then pulled her into his embrace, the urge to hold her near overwhelming him. His eyes looked sad—desperate.

Her playful expression fell to one of deep seriousness, her lips twisting with sadness. "Loki...I know you hate this. But I'm the only one who can-"

"I've heard. Multiple times. It does not make this easier, or please me any further. In fact, each time someone reminds me how necessary this is, it angers me more deeply," he replied, turning his face from her. "You should no longer be anyone's tool—least of all mine."

"I'm _not_ your tool, Loki," Natasha pressed. "I _offered_."

Loki scoffed. He turned from her, finally, his cape twisting around him before it settled near his ankles again. Shaking his head, he stared, silently, at the ground, his hands balling into angry fists. "You should not have to jeopardize yourself, again. Not when you are the one he truly wants."

Natasha reached out, touching a gentle hand to his shoulder. "I have to do this, Loki. Period."

"I know." He turned his profile toward her. "I know."

* * *

The blizzard around their compound had picked up again when they climbed up the ladder and out. They knew the trek to Thanos' palace would be long, and treacherous. They would be moving through Muspelheim's Remnant, where Surtur still lingered, lying in wait for trespassers. They would also be traversing through the fragments of Svartalfheim, where the Dark Elves mourned their fallen Malekith by capturing any non-elves who wandered into their lands and slaughtered them in his name

It was a dangerous journey, and that was before they even reached Thanos' palace.

Which was, in point of fact, a rebuilt, restructured, reworked remnant of the palace of Asgard. Thanos has placed himself on a false throne, right where the Asgardian royal family had once ruled.

He had made himself the dictator of an entirely decimated world right in the middle of the fragmented realm Loki and Thor had once cherished so much.

To go home, now—to go back and see the darkened remnant of the place they once lived in...once loved—to fight for a mere shell of Asgard's former glory—would be one of the hardest things either would ever have to do.

For Loki, it was just below sending Natasha into the jaws of utter danger. And it was destroying him inside.

"Everyone," he said, finally, into the communicator lodged, discreetly, into his ear. He pushed thoughts of Natasha and Asgard from his mind as he spoke. "Make sure you stay together. The lands between Jotunheim and Muspelhim are treacherous. Do not, for a moment, let your guard down."

They all nodded, pulling their cloaks tighter around themselves as they began their trek. It was going to be a long couple of days.

Long, dangerous and very uncertain.

* * *

Frigga pulled her eyes open, slowly, feeling the heavy swell of her eyelids around them. She was a strong woman—endowed with the strength and courage that every AEsir had, as well as the strength she gained by training as every other member of Asgard always had. She was no Lady Sif, for certain, but she owned a strength all her own.

However, this did not make her immune to Thanos or his malicious ministrations. Every day, since being captured, he came to her, clawing for information and when she was reluctant to give it, he was _not_ reluctant to teacher her respect.

Which explained her swollen eyelids, painted black and blue from the swing of Thanos' massive fists.

Still, Frigga would not betray her son—she would not give Loki up. She knew he was coming for her—she knew he would not rest until he found her, and already, in her heart of hearts, she worried for his safety, traversing across the treacherous landscape and straight into Thanos' territory. She knew Thanos wanted his hand on a platter—his heart in a vice.

She also had some indication of Thanos wanting Natasha returned to him, and why.

As she shifted, her body sore of Thanos' latest visit, she glanced around the cold room, the metal walls echoing with the silence of the room. Tilting her head slightly, she noticed the faint glow of something trickling through the thin outline of the metal doors. She furrowed her brow, her lips pursing in pained curiosity as she tried to determine what might be causing the strange light. She pulled at her restraints again and winced when the needle in her arm shifted.

Thanos was keeping her weak. Thanos was keeping her _drugged_.

Shifting a little, she closed her eyes, concentrating her entire body. She had the gift of Foresight, but she had not been able to call it up since Asgard's fall—much like Heimdall's Sight. Reaching deep within herself, though, she tried to pull up images of the future.

Her future. The futures of her sons.

A blurred image passed through her mind—but it was much too fuzzy to discern and it made her weak and weary. Letting the blurry mess flit from her mind, her eyes fell closed again, the last thought passing through her mind being:

_Thor...Loki...**Odin**..._

* * *

It took three days to reach Muspelheim's Remnant and as the heat increased, the group began to strip off their cloaks and warm clothes, leaving them in their body suits and armor.

"We should check LeBeau's place," Logan mumbled into his earpiece, and when the group of them turned to look at him, he gestured to a distant mountain range. "He's the reason I knew where to find you, Tricky."

Loki's brow furrowed and he glanced at Logan. His eyes slid to Natasha when she nodded, her own voice flitting into his ear through the communicator.

"He's right. He told me where to find you," Natasha murmured. "Generally. I get the feeling he gave Logan more information than he gave me. In fact, I think he sent me right into the Jotuns hands, to be honest."

"That," Thor said, abruptly, "won't be necessary." A guilty look fell over his masculine features.

As they walked, carefully, through the landscape, the magma bubbling beneath their feet, their eyes fell on Thor, and Loki raised an eyebrow at him, questioningly, and Thor sighed.

"We captured him—Rogue and I," Thor murmured. "We took him to Thanos. And that is how we were able to find your compound, brother. I am sorry. Forgive me."

Loki's eyes softened, and he shook his head. "You were not yourself, my brother. I cannot possibly hold a grudge. Thanos is the one to blame. Besides..." he trailed off, "...I have done far worse, and every one of you gave me a second chance."

"And you've proven you deserved it," Natasha chimed. "And then some."

The younger AEsir offered her a gentle smile. He stopping suddenly, as the ground beneath him rumbled, his hand shooting out in a pausing gesture. The group moving behind him paused in their stride, and Natasha flipped the rifle off of her back and positioned it against her shoulder immediately, pulling the lever on the side and listening to the hum of the photons sparking to life.

Loki's green eyes moved, carefully, around the area, scanning for anything out of the ordinary. He didn't spend much time in this area, due to his Jotun blood—even now, he felt ill from the heat—so he wasn't completely aware of the surrounding area's characteristics.

The rumbling moved closer to them, the sound growing louder, and Logan immediately realized what the sound meant. Allowing his blue eyes to jerk between each of them, he took a good whiff of the area, calculating where the strongest scent of sulfur was building, before his eyes jetted to Natasha.

"Romanoff, run!" he growled, as the rumble turned into a sputter and then went silent. Each of them stood, frozen, before the ground began to crack beneath Natasha's feet, and her eyes widened. Stumbling to find her footing, she slipped, as the ground broke open and the magma boiled, ready to erupt.

With all the speed and agility of his Asgardian genes, Loki sprinted and dove, just as the magma shot sky-high, slamming into her, both of them tumbling just out of the way of the magma geyser. For the most part.

The magma knicked his arm, just above his arm guards, burning through the soft cloth of his tunic quickly and settling on his skin. With a hiss and a growl, he reached out to wipe the offensive, heated material away as it ate away his Jotun skin.

Natasha tumbled backward, rolling a few feet from him before she pushed herself up. Her eyes fell, immediately, on his arm, watching as the offended skin turned blue beneath the magma, and then black as the magma practically destroyed the frosty make-up of his flesh. She jumped up, rushing to his side immediately, and swatting away the hand that moved to remove the magma. He didn't need any more of his skin being affected by the magma. Then, her eyes traveled to Logan.

"You're the only one who can do it," she said. "He'll lose his arm otherwise."

Loki's breathing was heavy, his heart beating fast. He had known the dangers of trekking through any land affected by Muspelheim's heat. He should have known better. He should have been more prepared. But he could not let Natasha burn. He was still a demi-god. She was only human.

Logan sighed, and rolled his eyes before moving toward them. Kneeling, he reached out, scooping the cooling magma into his hands, the heat at it's center burning into his fingers, before he flung it away, the slightly blackened digits of his fingers healing over immediately.

Loki's arm did not, however, and he reached out, gripping it with his good hand. He could barely move it now, and as he looked at the group of them, he frowned.

"Brother, are you well?" Thor asked, moving to him. He lifted his brother's arm, gently, the black-and-blue area wrapping around his bicep, an angry wound. He looked up into Loki's green eyes. "Brother, you are in need of healing. Are you able to move it at all?"

"Very little," he mumbled, but reached for the spear strapped to his back with his free hand. Twisting the weapon with agile dexterity, he nodded, firmly, to the group. "But it will be of little consequence. I can still wield my spear and that is all I require."

"Loki, will it spread if you don't get it treated?" Natasha asked, reaching out to touch the cool blue skin, mingling with the pink of his Asgardian flesh, and the blackened area where the magma had affected him.

"No," Loki mumbled. "No, it should not. However..." He glanced at the wound, "...my Jotun flesh is like ice...burned, made glassy and frail...if one were to..."

He paused, his jaw clenching.

"What you're implying," Laura said, her voice traveling over their communicators from her place a few yards away, scouting the area for Surtur or his demons, "is that someone could snap your arm off like a twig if they wanted to. Even a human."

Loki seethed. "Unfortunately," he replied.

Natasha's whole body shuddered, a sympathetic kind of pain lacing through her at the thought of someone breaking his arm off his body like a child might break a dangling icicle from a tree branch. Moving toward him, she pulled the cloak she'd discarded off of her belt and tore it. Taking the ripped fabric, she bound his wound, carefully. She knew it wouldn't keep someone from breaking if off, but she knew if their enemies did not see how tentative and delicate the wound was, there was a greater chance of him keeping the arm.

"It's just a temporary fix. For now," she murmured, quietly.

Offering her a small, pained smile, Loki nodded. "Thank you, my love."

Blushing, Natasha nodded, and then murmured. "Let's keep moving. We need to get out of this area before someone finds us. Or before something worse happens because of this heat."

* * *

"We will make camp here for the night," Loki said, about six hours later. They were well into the heart of Muspelheim's Remnant now, and, having dodged many more of the magma geysers without incident, they were able to find a cave, tucked deep within one of the mountain ranges, where the magma did not reach. As Logan and Fandral began to set up camp, and Heimdall stood guard at the cave mouth, Natasha moved deeper into the cave, pausing when she found a cliff at the cave's other end—a ledge that dropped far down into a bubbling river of magma below.

Narrowing her eyes, she stepped back from the edge, crossing her arms, thoughtfully, over her chest. Shifting her eyes off to the side, suddenly, she pivoted swiftly on her heel, her photon pistol whipped from her thigh holster immediately, and pointed at the person who'd had the gall to sneak up on her.

Laura.

"Stand down, Spidergirl," mumbled the younger woman.

"Not many people can sneak up on me," she murmured. "Only a handful in fact. Did you think I wouldn't hear you?"

"I come in peace, really," Laura replied, rolling her eyes. She stepped, cautiously, to the edge and looked down into the magma river, frowning. "So, we have a cave entrance on one end and a burning river on the other. Which means..."

Natasha replaced her weapon in its holster and offered, "We're screwed if Surtur or Thanos' forces decide to corner us from the cave mouth. We'll have no way out. We'll be trapped."

"We could fight them off."

"Perhaps," Natasha added. "But only for so long. Loki's wounded, and he's Jotun. He wouldn't last in this heat if we got into a battle. Thor might, but it's hard to call down thunder from clouds of soot and ash. Fandral and Heimdall would fight to the last, but they might also fall depending on the strength and number of the forces. And I'm only human, despite everything. I'd succumb to the heat eventually, too."

"So, what you're saying is Logan and I would be the only ones who could withstand the attack," Laura murmured. "Because of our healing factor."

"Pretty much," Natasha said, as a bead of sweat moved down her cheek from her hairline. "It's already getting hot in here. We won't be able to stay camped here for long. We'll need to move on in about four hours, at the most."

She glanced, once more, at the magma river and then looked at Laura. "I'm going to go check on Loki." With that, she turned from the young woman and stalked, with determination, back toward the cave entrance.

Laura watched her, until she was well ahead of her, before turning her gaze back to the magma river and swallowing. _Would we? Would Logan and I survive? _

With a sigh, she turned to follow Natasha, her last thought a trembling: _Would it matter_?

* * *

Loki took deep, shuddering breaths, sweat drifting, in rivulets, down his face, each streak of salty moisture painting a line of blue skin over his AEsir pink flesh. It stripped the pale-color away and revealed, little by little, the blue of his Jotun heritage and the lines of his Jotun runes.

Natasha approached him, slowly, her arm pushed up under her red curls, lifting the sweat-moistened auburn tendrils from off of her neck. Her whole face glistened with perspiration and she unzipped the front of her jumpsuit a little, showing just the slightest peek of the black tank top and bra that settled, humidly, against her flesh beneath.

Loki watched her, his eyes foggy with the sickness that crawled through his body from the heat and pained with the dull throb of his wounded arm. However, despite this, he reached up and plucked the band from his hair. "Natasha."

She, pausing in front of him to scan the immediate surroundings carefully, finally turned her eyes on him, and frowned, deeply. "What's happening to you?"

She crouched, her knees bent, heels drifting up off of the ground. Reaching out, she brushed the sweat from his brow, and touched his cheek with gentle, loving fingers.

"Odin's magic is dwindling..." he heaved, closing his eyes. "With his body so deeply in Odinsleep, it cannot hope to stand up to my Jotun genes as the ice melts from the inside out."

"Can't you cast your own glamour? You have your own magic. Can't you fix this?"

"Yes," Loki replied, and she watched his chest rise and fall with difficulty. "But it would also be stripped away by the Jotun blood after a time. Frost Giants were never to step foot within Muspelheim. It is a surety that our Cask of Ancient Winters is a formidable weapon against Surtur—but all that Surtur and his realm are can be deemed formidable against us."

"So, in essence, you and your magic—basically everything about you—is melting away like a giant snowman?"

Loki let out a labored chuckle. "If you wish to put it in such childish terms, then yes. I suppose you could say that."

"Loki," she whispered, and leaned in. "We need to get you out of this place."

"It's another four hours before we cross the border into the next realm fragment," he whispered, eyes drifting closed. "We must rest before we continue such a journey. I know...you're tired...everyone is...tired..."

"Loki, don't do that," she said, and his eyes opened half-mast. He smiled, weakly, at her and held up his mother's band.

"What's that?" Natasha asked.

"My father's present to my mother...when he brought me home," Loki whispered, his voice broken, "She said...he was very proud to have me...as his son. And this was the proof. Here, wear it. I see...I see the way you...try to move your hair off of your neck."

"No, you need it more than I do," Natasha murmured. "You'll overheat before I do."

"_Take it_," he begged. "You'll need it..in case..."

"_Stop_," Natasha hissed, and pressed her fingers into his damp hair. "Stop that. You're going to be fine, okay?" She took the band, gingerly. "Will it make you feel better if I wear it?"

A weak nod.

"Fine." She pulled her hair into a high ponytail, a twisting nest of curls, and tied it off, carefully, the band glittering, a pretty gold-and-silver accent against the flaming color of her hair. "There. Better?"

She was met with the sound of steady, labored breathing. Glancing at him, she found he'd fallen into a weak, uncomfortable sleep. With a sigh, she brushed black waves from his face. _Please, don't die. It's not your time to die._

Thinking of her next mission—her next assignment—she placed herself next to where he sat, tucked up against one of the cave walls, laying her head against his shoulder. Closing her eyes, picturing Thanos, picturing _Death_, she realized something almost inevitable:

_It's mine. _

Closing her eyes, her face tucked against his neck, she apologized, silently, to him, and then let herself drift off. In two hours, she would wake herself and everyone up, hoping that Loki could hold out for six more hours. If she could just get them across the border into the fragmented realm of the Elves, she could save him from death.

* * *

Anna was wandering through the palace, a pensive expression painted on her face. She could not erase the faces of the Wolverine or the one who called himself "LeBeau" from her mind. No matter how she tried, their faces and voices would worm their way back in, and the images of time spent with them would haunt her.

Unlike Natasha, she could discern that these were more than merely dreams, and they made her uncertain—caused a war in her heart. A part of her felt as if she had been meant for Thanos' greatness all of her life, and that it was her _duty_ toward her own self-preservation to continue working toward _his_ goals. However, the part of her that wanted to believe these images were memories—beautiful memories of life and love and being the hero—struggled to surface, to make it's way into the conscious part of her mind and bring her back to the woman both of these men had once known. The _Rogue_.

Pausing at the sound of the name within her own head, she cringed. Both LeBeau and the Wolverine had called her that, and it angered her. Angered her because it sparked something, buried, deep in her heart. Something was awakening in her, and her own self-awareness made her realize that should it spring forth, she would turn from Thanos' rule. And, as her self-preservation and self-awareness battled from control, she wasn't sure if that would be completely wise.

Growling and punching a nearby wall—causing a dent in the structure—she sighed. "None'a this makes any sense," she grumbled to herself. As she pulled her fist from the wall, however, she frowned. The dent she'd caused had been in a spot where two wall panels met, and now that they were dented, the line which connected them had opened into a gap.

And something was behind the gap.

Peeking in, her eyes widened suddenly.

Pods. Thousands and thousands of pods. And each pod had something in it. Bodies. Humanoid bodies.

Peeling back the wall, Anna crawled over the dented space into the room behind it, her whole body shuddering. There were thousands of chambers, all filled with people. Thanos was _keeping_ these people.

_Well, surely, they must be prisoners he's captured for insubordination_, her loyal mind argued. Until she reached a spot where three open chambers rested. On each of the chambers were etched names—some normal, and some...some _code_ names.

As she approached the open chambers, she paused, her fingers brushing over the name on the first. _Thor. That great, dumb brute who changed sides._

She moved to the next, and her eyes narrowed. _Black Widow. The redhead. Laufeyson's whore._

But it was the last of the pods that shook her to her core—made her question all loyalty to Thanos and all that he had told her. Every lie. Every word. Everything.

_Rogue._

The last pod said _Rogue_. Not Anna. _Rogue_. Why would this pod be here? Why would this _name_ be here—the name that both of those men had called her?

_Maybe, it's just a coincidence._

But, as images flooded into her mind like a raging river, she began to realize it wasn't.

"You were never meant to see this, Anna."

Turning on her heel, she caught but a glimpse of Thanos, before his hard, hulking fist jolted like a shockwave moving from his shoulder down his arm, and finally connected with her face.

Remy's face in the recesses of her mind's eyes was the last thing she saw before she blacked out.

* * *

Two hours went by more quickly than Natasha would've liked. She was tired, hot and sore from walking, but she knew that waiting any longer would jeopardize the lives of many in her party. Pulling herself from her position against Loki—who had worsened with a whole half of his face and one of his hands fully blue now—she stood and began to wake the rest of them.

"What is it, Natasha?" Thor asked, as he shook sleep from his eyes. "Is something wrong?"

"It's time to go."

Thor's brow furrowed. "How long have we been sleeping?"

"Two hours."

"Only? Should we not attempt a few more hours of-"

"Loki's dying, Thor," Natasha whispered. "The heat is killing him. We have to move."

Thor was up, immediately, his eyes aflame with sudden determination. He approached Heimdall, who had fallen asleep at the mouth of the cave, ready to wake should someone cross the threshold, and woke him, quickly. Fandral was next, Logan had already been woken by Natasha and Laura woke just after him on her own.

Finally, Natasha approached Loki, shaking him, gently. He did not stir. Again, she shook him, and he slept on. With the sudden bite of fear in her heart, she leaned in and, pressing her fingers to his cheeks, she whispered, "Loki...wake up. Loki, come on. Wake _up._"

Pressing the smallest of kisses to the blue side of his lips, she felt the chill of his Jotun skin, mixed with the moisture of sweat and the melting of icy flesh, and her lips burned. However, the kiss was short, lingering only for a moment as she pulled her lips away, a slight ache lingering in them.

Finally, Loki's eyes fluttered open half-way and he looked at her. "Natasha...what...?"

"Can you stand?" she asked.

Loki placed the palms of his hands on the ground below him, moving to push himself up, gasping in pain when the sound like glass cracking trickled through the cave. He paused in his actions, his good hand shooting out to grasp his bad arm. He took quick, shallow breaths and looked at her. "It's possible but it appears I cannot move into that position of my own accord."

"Alright," Natasha murmured, and then slid her arm up under both of his, pushing all of her strength into her thigh muscles as she lifted them both into a standing position. When they were both standing, she moved back from him to see if he could stand on his own, and caught him when he stumbled.

"I am very weak," he murmured. "We must move quickly."

"You think?" Natasha offered, dryly.

"How long until we reach the border?"

"You told me four hours. I'm...gonna see if we can't make it three."

Loki chuckled, weakly. "Well, if anyone can accomplish the impossible, it is you."

Natasha nodded, and then turned to the rest of the group, her arms looped around Loki, strongly. "Are we ready to move out?"

"Most certainly, Lady Romanoff," Thor replied with a firm nod. "Worry not, brother, we will get you across the border to safety!"

He raised Mjolnir, determination flooding him, and it was then that it dawned on Natasha. Her eyes widened.

"Thor, can you fly?"

Thor's brow furrowed. "I...I suppose so. Why do you ask?"

She looked at Loki. "You can't walk. I'll never be able to carry you to the border in enough time to save you."

"Natasha..." Loki began, but she cut him off.

"But Thor has strength to carry you. And flight—he can get you to the border, quickly. Way quicker than I could."

"This is madness," Loki hissed. "I will not separate from you. Surtur is still out there, as are his demonic hoards. He will strike you like a match against the mountainside if he catches you. I will _not_ leave you!"

"_And I won't let you die_!" was Natasha's barked reply. "And yeah, I know, that sounds _really_ hypocritical considering I'm throwing myself into Thanos' proverbial lions' den, but if I can _give _you a fighting chance, then I'm going to do everything in my power to give it!"

Loki's breath came in heaving pants as he looked at her, and then he turned his gaze to Thor, who shared Natasha's look of fierce determination. Twisting his gaze back to her, he frowned. "Natasha..."

"Please, Loki. You're our leader—your _their_ leader." She nodded to the group. "They need you. I can only get us into Thanos' palace. But I'm still just a human—no healing factor, no Asgardian strength. You all...you're the only ones strong enough to finally end this. _You_ are the only one strong enough to end this, Loki."

Loki closed his eyes, felt his strength dwindling moment by moment that he stayed within the throbbing heat of the realm around him. But he didn't want to leave Natasha to Surtur's wrath alone. At the same time, the fact that she believed she would make it as far as Thanos' palace gave him a fragment of hope. Finally, with utter reluctance, he nodded. "Very well. I will go."

Natasha nodded, and then, carefully, she carried him toward the group, following out of the cave and onto the cracked, dried landscape laid out before them.

They paused in the middle of the area, the ground glowing with the gleam of magma shining through the many cracks, and Natasha, gingerly, passed Loki over to Thor. Her whole body thrummed with fear—fear they would not make it, fear they would be intercepted and Loki would die—but she kept it at bay. No kiss was shared between them as she could still feel the chapped ache of her half-kiss from earlier, but she looked at him with earnest affection as Thor began to swing his hammer.

_Be safe_, her eyes seemed to say.

_You too,_ was the immediate, green-eyed response.

Then, with all the strength and determination within him—strength to save the brother and friend he had always loved—Thor swung Mjolnir up, his whole body slingshotting into the air, his free arm twisted, firmly, around Loki.

Natasha watched them as they zipped through the air toward the border. Toward the fragment of Svartalfheim.

It wasn't until they were but a speck in the ash-and-soot smeared sky that Natasha turned to the rest of the group.

"It's time," she said. "Let's get moving."

They moved, silently, following the order without question and as Natasha moved at the front of the pack, her hand ever itching to reach for her pistol should trouble come, she glanced ahead into the sky again, where the brothers had disappeared, and her last thought before mission-mode took over was:

_I _will _see you in four hours...Loki._

But dead or alive, she feared, were still haunting uncertainties.

* * *

"For I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ, for it is the power of God to salvation for everyone who believes." Romans 1:16.

_Please_ review.


	16. Chapter 15

I AM OFFICIALLY DONE FOR THE SUMMER! In celebration, another chapter of _Endurace_! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own anything. I don't own Loki or Natasha. If I did, they would be married and have like ten little blue half-human babies. But alas, I do not. So yeah.

* * *

Chapter 15

* * *

The next four hours felt like four days to Natasha. Having been trained since childhood to understand the goings-on of her own body, and she could feel the heat stroke coming on—the slow boiling of her organs from the inside out. She saw it in Fandral and Heimdall as well, but happening more slowly. As for Logan and Laura, it was an uncertainty. Would their organs continue to heal?

Shaking these thoughts away, she trekked on, refusing to give up or give in the heat.

She'd been through worse. Like Budapest.

"_You and I remember Budapest very differently."_

Smiling a little to herself, she shook her head. There was so much she was fighting for. So many people. _You better be alive, Clint. I need _someone _ to yell at me for falling for Loki. So you better damn well be alive._

In her distraction, she didn't realize they were being watched. She didn't see the group of them moving out of the shadows of the mountain.

And then...she did. A hoard of Surtur's demons, all spilling from the shadows, all focused on them. With all the agility in her body, she ducked their first oncoming attack, the ball of fire that was thrown zooming swiftly over her head, singing just the ends of her pretty rose-red curls.

"_Ambush_!" she cried, suddenly, as the hoard rushed them. Then, she pushed herself into a backflip, pressing all of her strength through her thighs into her feet, twisting her body backwards onto her hands and then again onto her feet, all the while dodging the onslaught of fireballs that whizzed toward them.

In the distance, she heard the distinct "chkt" of claws sliding, swiftly, from their resting place and, glancing over her shoulder, she took note of Logan and Laura, their adamantium claws ripping through the flaming bodies of the demons that charged them.

When she turned her attention back to her own attackers, she had but a moment to dodge the fiery assault of blazing spear. The flaming blade swung down near her, just missing her as she jumped back, sliding to a halt just a few feet away. Reaching, quickly, for her photon pistol, she landed three photons in the creatures head, before letting out a yelp of pain as one of the demons rushed her from behind, grabbing her shoulder with the flaring flames of his hands and burning a deep hand print into her skin.

Her foot shot up and around, her knee wrapping around his neck and though she felt the heat of flames eating through her suit, she was able to flip the demon around and down, pinning him and sinking a photon into his skull. She stepped back, taking deep, labored breaths, her adrenaline pumping and causing the heat of the area to wear on her more quickly.

Glancing at the welt that began to build on her shoulder, she let out a small hiss of pain before turning toward her party members. Utilizing the skills she'd built up as Thanos' general, she readied her rifle, the thrum of photons coursing through the gun, as she pressed the rifle to her shoulder (with a cringe) and squeezed the trigger. One by one, she picked the remaining demons off—the ones the others had not already dispatched—but she gasped with each retraction of the gun that slammed back into her shoulder.

Taking deep, shaking breaths at the end of the battle, she glanced up at her friends, her eyes glazed from pain and weariness—an aftereffect of the battle and the heat.

Finally, unable to handle all of the factors stacked against her, Natasha wavered and collapsed to her knees, her breathing coming more rapidly. Fandral was at her side immediately.

"My lady," he said. Immediately, he noted the angry, red hand print blistered into her flesh and frowned. "You were captured."

"Briefly," she said, breaths coming in harsh pants. "How far are we from the border?"

"Not far now. Maybe fifteen minutes. I can see it," Logan said, his eyes turned toward the border. "See it well."

Fandral dipped to lift her, but she pushed him away, standing on her own. She shook her head. She would not be a victim. She was stronger than that. She _needed_ to be stronger than that for Loki. "Let's get going then."

Grabbing her shoulder, and shuddering on her feet, she continued forward, stepping over the corpses of Surtur's forces, hoping no more of his masses, or he himself, would ambush them again.

* * *

Thor touched down, with careful quietness, in the fragmented realm of Svartalfheim. When the merge had happened, the Dark Elves realm had been pulled together with parts and pieces of Europe. As he touched down, he saw the very top of the Eiffel tower like a ugly, rusted spire, jutting up through a mass of trees. A web of vines spiraled around the abandoned buildings, and trees sprung from broken, cracked streets filled with dead, empty cars.

It was a forested wasteland. As Thor placed Loki down in some cool grass nearby, the younger glanced around. He knew there were still a few humans—perhaps even some Light Elves, who's home in Alfheim had been completely destroyed by the merge—that lingered in this place. In fact, it was the Light Elves who had killed Malekith in fear that he would join with Thanos' cause. But the Dark Elves reigned supreme here, and they were filled with vengeful rage.

"We aren't safe here," Loki said, his breathing already steadying. He could feel his magic returning to fullness, but slowly, and he knew, should an ambush occur, he could not hold them off. Sitting up, carefully, he grabbed his wounded arm, his face twisting into a slight cringe upon realizing that, should the rest of him heal, this arm was still a veritable lost cause.

"Perhaps not," Thor murmured, and then smiled a little, "but I see the color coming back to your face...and your breathing has steadied. You are safer here than you were before."

Loki snorted but moved to stand, feeling his energy returning. At least he could move on his own, finally. Careful not to try and move his wounded arm, he checked for his spear, glad to find it had not been lost in transit. Pulling the weapon off of his back, he grasped it tightly in his hand and turned her gaze to Thor.

"We must move with caution," Loki murmured, his green eyes shifting with intense attention to detail as he moved onto the cracked asphalt of a decimated European street, the blade of his spear cutting through the overgrow of trees and vines as he moved through the forest-shadowed area. Thor followed closely behind, his hand gripping Mjolnir, firmly.

"Brother, the sky is clearer here," Thor murmured, and the comment sounded off-handed and out of place to Loki, who's brow furrowed.

"How nice?" Loki said, his tone sardonic.

"What I mean to say is, if need be, I can call down thunder and lightning without issue," replied the older. "The clouds are not corrupted by ash and soot."

"Well, that's a point in our favor, considering my magic is very much diminished," Loki replied, distantly, his eyes still scanning the area as they walked, his blade slicing through foliage like butter. "It's difficult to see only just a few feet in front of you. The overgrowth is thick and unyielding. Stay close to me, Thor."

"You speak to me as if you were the older and I needed the protecting," Thor replied.

"Has it not always been a trade-off?" Loki asked, glancing back at his brother. "After all, you were the one who saved me from myself."

"Was I?" Thor asked, quietly.

"You convinced Father to send me to Midgard with minimal magic. You convinced your teammates to allow me into their domain, despite all I had done. You were the reason Natasha came to my defense—admitted to living a life similar to mine," Loki murmured. "In a way, you freed me from much of my pain..."

Thor's blue eyes trembled, filling with tearful moisture as he followed behind his brother. "I never wished for you to feel any pain, brother. I only wished for you to realize how very loved you were."

"I did, finally," Loki murmured. "Though, it still shocks me that anyone could love a monster."

"You are _no_ monster, my brother!" barked Thor. "And if you are, then I am as well! I have committed travesties...I have ruined lives. We will be monsters together if that is the case."

"No, Thor," Loki said, and turned his head to gaze at him. "Let us try to be better _men_ together. Let us find strength in the wounds of our past, and let us overcome them. Shall we?"

Thor's brow furrowed, contemplating, before he smiled and gave a small nod. "Wise words, brother. Yes. Let us use what our past has taught us as a shield and sword against Thanos. Let us show him what the strength of heroes can do."

Loki nodded, and turned, again, to resume his forward stride, his blade sawing through the greenery in front of him. He glanced back at Thor, who followed after him with a smile, and furrowed his brow when a thoughtful look fell over the older's face.

"Brother, may I make a query?" Thor said, finally, his face lifting to meet the singular eye of Loki's profile.

"Is that not already one?" Loki teased, but Thor's earnest expression gave way to a nod from the younger prince.

"Why did the mutant girl call you 'Laufeyson'?"

Loki twisted his gaze away from Thor, his spear moving from one branch to the next, from one vine to another, the only sound between them the hacking of plant life as the Trickster cleared a path. Finally, after a long moment of silence, he murmured, "Because I needed to admit to who I was. To what I was."

"I do not understand..."

"I needed to be okay with all that I was, Thor," Loki replied. "There were so many lives under my care—so many broken families and lonely souls. If I was not comfortable in all that I was, how could I hope to comfort them?"

"You truly have changed, haven't you?"

Loki chuckled. "It wasn't just that, Thor. I also had to gain the trust of Ljot and his forces. Calling myself Laufeyson seemed logical."

"When this is over, brother," Thor said, though his tone connoted _if_ more than _when_, "will you not consider calling yourself Odinson again?"

"Well, I suppose it will depend," Loki murmured, smiling to himself a little.

"On what?"

"On which name Natasha would rather take." Hopeful, he knew. But if they all got out of this alive, it was the first step he wished to take.

Thor only froze, his mouth falling agape, and then he rushed Loki, grabbing him from behind and hugging him, fiercely. "Oh what a happy day this is! May Valhalla smile on this union, my brother! When do you plan on asking her?"

"Thor!" gasped Loki. "Thor—arm—!"

"Oh!" Thor cried, and dropped him, immediately, wincing when the cloth around his arm slipped and the cracks in the blue-and-black flesh worsened a little. "Brother, I am sorry. Truly, I had forgotten and—"

"All is well, Thor, calm yourself," Loki replied, adjusting the cloth around his arm again. He turned to smile at Thor, reassuringly, when something caught his eye.

Many somethings in fact.

"I take that back," he said, his face falling to shock. And fear. "All is _not_ well."

Thor turned. And turned. And turned again. It was true. All was not well.

They were surrounded.

By hoards and hoards of Dark Elves.

"Welcome, Asgardians," murmured one, a malicious grin splitting her pale face, "to our lands."

Loki and Thor moved, pressing their backs together. Thor swung Mjolnir at the ready. Loki positioned his spear. The fight was on. They could feel it.

The pale, unearthly grin never faltered.

"We hope you enjoy...your stay."

* * *

The glow under the door had all of Frigga's attention now. When Thanos was not tormenting her, or she was not dreaming of Odin's beautifully graying face, her attention was focused on that glow. Something deep within her knew the glow meant something important, but the more they drugged her, the weaker she got.

And the harder it became to move.

But even in all of her weakness, she twisted her body around as much as she could against the chains, to try and discern what the glowing was. Reaching out a little with her shackled hand, she tried to ascertain as to whether the glow had any supernatural properties.

As faint as her own abilities were, she could detect a powerful force despite how small the glow was. It wasn't not hard to determine, in that instant, what was behind the doors.

It was an Infinity Gem.

But which? And why did it sit, idly, behind the doors, glowing constantly? Why did Thanos not have it tucked into the confines of the Gauntlet, utilizing its powers at every moment? In fact, Frigga wondered, with all the trouble her youngest son had given to him, why he had never erased Loki from existence with the Reality Gem.

It would not have been so hard, though the thought tore through her like a long, sharp claw through her heart.

It was then that Frigga realized: if Thanos was not keeping this gem in the Gauntlet, perhaps he was not keeping any of them in it. Perhaps, he had scattered them so that no one could take them all from him at once. Perhaps, she realized, he did not have direct access to the Reality Gem.

Or, perhaps, she hoped beyond all hope, his stunt when he merged the realms had exhausted even the limits of the gem, and the Gauntlet's power was useless without it.

It would explain the gem in the next room, being utilized for whatever other reason Thanos believed it good for. Still, she knew he wore the Gauntlet—she could feel its power when he entered the room as well—and so perhaps her theories were too far-fetched. But it seemed odd that Thanos would never utilize the Reality Gems power to kill, eliminate or capture Loki.

Not in an entire century.

"_Your Foresight is not completely diminished, my love."_

It was Odin's voice. She was hearing it more frequently now, and suddenly she realized how desperate Natasha must have been in this place. Sitting, alone, hearing the voices of her past. Hearing her _son's_ voice.

Hearing the voice of the man you loved, and being unable to reach out and touch him, was excrutiating.

Knowing he was veritably dead was even worse. She feared she'd never touch him again—stroke his bearded cheek, hold his hand, sleep with his arms around her. What a horribly _lonely_ feeling. A feeling she'd felt for a century but kept inside.

Finally, in the blinding pain of her captivity, and in the presence of a gem's intense magic, she finally let it out. Finally, the tears, silent but overflowing like a river, fell down her swollen face.

Finally, it all became too much.

* * *

They were about a mile into the area overrun by Svartalfheim's fragmented dwellers when Natasha finally collapsed again. She had felt her strength beginning to return as soon as the rush of cool, forest air flew past her, but the weariness of the journey still grated on her, and finally, finding the lush green grass settled in the shadow of a few tall oak trees, she let herself fall into the softness of the greenscape, her voice murmuring, "We should rest here for a moment."

"I disagree," Heimdall murmured. "We must find the princes. They could be in grave danger."

"Heimdall," Fandral murmured, nodding to her. Her breath came in small, heaving pants, and he knew that despite her uncommon strength, her Midgardian body still needed time to recuperate when put through great bouts of stress. "Give her a moment." _It is what Loki would want_, he eyes seemed to add.

Logan and Laura were huffing a little too—but not nearly as much as Natasha—and they recovered quickly. Leaping up into a tree, Laura began to scout the area for anyone unruly and dangerous, while Logan used his claws to begin cutting a path through the foliage around them.

After a moment of resting, Natasha felt much better and as she pushed herself into a standing position, Logan returned, and said, "Hey, I think I found where Loki and Thor were cutting through. I think we can follow their path from here."

Still weakened slightly by the pain in her shoulder, Natasha forced herself to ignore the dull throb from the burn and nodded. "Alright, Logan. Lead the way. Just in case."

Jumping down from her tree, Laura followed after her father, murmuring, "I didn't see anything immediately dangerous from here. But we should keep our guards up for sure."

"You've no idea," mumbled Fandral as they each followed each other, one after the other in a line.

"Loki never mentioned many of the other realms while he was on Earth," Natasha murmured, glancing at him. "What was Svartalfheim like?"

"Well, as you can probably tell, it was beautifully lush and green," replied the blonde AEsir, stroking his goatee, thoughtfully. Then, he dropped his hand, allowing the fingers to hover over his dagger as memories of Dark Elves filled his head. "But despite its beauty and light, its inhabitants were dark, malevolent creatures. Led by the darkest of them all: Malekith."

"What was so bad about them?" Laura asked, her voice carrying back to them.

"They were filled with magic even greater than Loki's," Heimdall answered, his deep voice low and pensive. "And, like the Loki of old, they used it in the most malicious of ways. Unlike our prince, however, they never reached for redemption. Never strived for it nor wanted it. They pleasured in seeing others pain."

"They also wished to claim Asgard as their own," Fandral added. "Malekith was hungry for power. Much like Thanos is. The Light Elves dispatched of him, however, that they might not combine their ugly lust for power into something far more sinister."

"In point of fact," Heimdall murmured, "it was Loki who convinced the Light Elves to do it. They feared Malekith and his magic. It is a sad truth that the power of dark magic far outweighs light."

"So, Loki's been here before?"

"Only just briefly," Fandral murmured. "Using information he gathered from the Jotuns, he was able to teleport himself directly into the encampment without crossing Dark Elf paths. He promised he would usher the royal family and any women and children out of this place with his magic if they would mount an attack against Malekith."

Natasha's attention was on Fandral now. "Why only them?"

"A few reasons," Fandral murmured. "Some of them were so enamored by his silver-tongue, they vowed to stay and work in the mines. I'm sure you encountered a few of them."

She vaguely remembered pale faces and pointed ears as she nodded.

"Secondly, Loki's magic truly _does_ have its limits. Especially in this assimilated realm, where all of the pathways of Yggdrasil have been corrupted. Much of the magic any creature who lived under Yggdrasil's branches had was part of them as a result of Yggdrasil's own power. Because the tree has been morphed and mutated, much of the magic has been corrupted as well."

"Like Heimdall's Sight?" Natasha offered.

"And the Queen's Foresight," Heimdall added.

"The Queen's Foresight?" Natasha asked, an eyebrow raising.

"Indeed," Fandral chimed. "The Queen is known for great Foresight. She is able to see far into the future. But she never reveals her visions unless it is of dire importance. But since the tree's corruption, she had not been able to See. And it has caused her great worry for the prince whenever he is out with the scouting parties. He did not always return when he said he would."

Natasha could imagine that feeling. Anxious fear for someone she loved. Anxious fear for _Loki_.

"Wait," Laura said. "_Why_ didn't she Foresee this...merge-thing that Thanos did? That seems pretty dire."

"We do not know," Heimdall murmured.

"But we assume it is because it was a future disconnected from Yggdrasil's lifeforce," Fandral added. "After all, the Queen's power comes from Yggdrasil."

Laura opened her mouth to speak again, but found herself running firmly into the back of Logan, who had paused in his stride. "Logan? What's up?"

Natasha pushed past Laura and stopped next to Logan, her eyes trained on him. "What is it? Did you find Loki and Thor?"

"No," Logan murmured. "The cut path stops. But no royal pains in the ass to be seen." He took a deep whiff of the air. "But I smell adamantium. It's not far."

Natasha realized they had moved off of the asphalt they'd been trekking down and onto a floor of dry soil. Carefully, she kneeled, one knee on the ground, the other propped up her elbow as she inspected the dirt below with her free hand. Moving her fingers over the packed earth, she narrowed her eyes. "There," she murmured and pointed.

It was faint, made by something that was used to moving through these forests stealthily, but it was there. A footprint.

Logan focused his eyes, and suddenly, he could see the trail of prints, his acute senses picking them up immediately. Glancing at Natasha, he began to cut a path again where the prints began, not stopping until the prints ended, in a big clearing.

An _empty_ clearing.

Save for two very distinctly out of place objects. _Living_ objects.

Natasha came through the brush just after Logan, and her eyes widened immediately. "_Oh_," she gasped, her hand shooting up to her mouth.

There, before them, were Loki and Thor, and it was clear something with ill intent had captured them.

Thor, bleeding and beaten, had been bound into a web of vines that slithered around him as if they lived and breathed of their own accord, their 2-inch long thorns digging deeply into his formidable but not invincible AEsir flesh.

But the worst of the two was most definitely Loki. He had been beaten bloody, stripped completely of his AEsir flesh by a kind of dark magic Natasha never wanted to encounter, and had been hung by one of the thorny vines from a tall, thick tree.

By his wounded arm. _Only_, his wounded arm.

On top of that, the trees branches had clearly been magicked, ans every few seconds they lashed Loki in the back, leaving interwoven lines of cracks up and down his icy Jotun skin. But Loki did not cry out. He barely cringed. She could tell that he was near unconsciousness—or death—and with each whip, she could see the broken lines in his wounded arm deepening. She could see the icy muscles and tendons beginning to separate from his body.

With each malicious flog, she knew he drew closer to breaking apart. Like a beautifully sad reflection of his true self, mirrored in a broken ice sculpture.

He was literally falling apart.

And she felt helpless to stop it.

But she was not about to sit by and do nothing. Moving into the clearing, she made a beeline for Loki, her body filled with a firm determination. Despite the protests of her party. Despite Heimdall and Fandral's warning of the Dark Elves. Despite Logan and Laura trying to remind her that something had clearly _put_ them there.

She didn't care. Her mind was focused—she had to save Loki.

But as red-eyes cracked open at the sound of familiar voices—at the sound of Natasha's name—the decimated prince tried, _tried, _to open his mouth to warn her as she approached.

But it was already too late. She was in the air. Her limbs were being spread wide by magic unseen, and as the Elves moved out of the surrounding thicket and into the clearing, the offending elf smirked, his comrades capturing the rest of the party easily enough.

As the pain of every muscle in her body being manipulated seeped through her, Natasha tried to turn her eyes to Loki.

And as Loki's half-lidded, half-dead gaze fell on her, floating in mid-air at eye-level to him, he tried to offer an apologetic look, which was destroyed by the malicious cackle below.

Loki twisted his eyes to the sound and called up a weak glare. "Algrim..." he croaked and cringed when the tree lashed at his back. His arm cracked a little more. "...put...her down...or..."

"_What, _little Jotun welp?" the one called Algrim replied. He was the most malicious of his troupe. He had been Malekith's second-in-command and had a thirst for causing pain almost as unquenched as Malekith's had been. He stretched his fingers wide, listening to the satisfying crack of a dislocated limb. He was, however, angered a little when the woman did not cry out from the pain. She was strong. Stronger than any mortal he'd ever encountered.

"_Algrim_," hissed the prince, ever trying to save Natasha despite his own inflicted torment.

It was then that it dawned on the elf and understanding floated over his features. "Ah, I see."

He twisted his hand, flipping palm up, and Natasha's entire body pivoted upside down, all of the blood suddenly rushing to her head—and to the throbbing burn on her shoulder. She let out a gasp.

"You're in _love_ with her," he said to the tortured Jotun prince. Squeezing his fingers together, he heard another satisfying crunch—the sound of bone breaking—and Natasha let another gasp escape, but no cry. Not even a whimper.

Algrim was a little impressed by her strength, but allowed a malignant grin to cut his features, sharp teeth gleaming white inside his mouth.

"Then, I will enjoy _breaking her,_" _Crunch,_ "myself."

* * *

"Walk in love, as Christ also loved us, and given Himself for us, as an offering and sacrifice to God." Ephesians 3:2

_Please_ review.


	17. Chapter 16

I want to thank all of my reviewers from the bottom of my heart. You guys make every word I write worth the long hours it takes to pump out 9-13 page chapters. You guys are beautiful and may God bless you all, incredibly!

Now...onto the next chapter of _Endurance_!

Disclaimer: I seriously don't own even a moment of Avengers. Not even a _micro-particle _of it. Thank you, comic book writers, Joss Whedon and all you lovely actors, for giving us this amazingly diverse universe! :D

* * *

Chapter 16

Natasha's shoulder was dislocated, for sure. As for the breaks, she was positive at least one was a rib, judging by the sharp pain in her chest. Of the other, she was unsure. She felt pain all over, if she was honest with herself, and it made it hard to pinpoint the epicenter of the second break. The radiating pain traveling up her non-discolated arm embodied her best guess—that the break was either in her wrist, or hand somewhere. A finger, perhaps.

She remembered how it worked from her days as Black Widow. Start small, and inflict as much pain as possible as slowly as possible.

It didn't help that one of those enchanted vines was snaking around her leg, sticking her like the needles of a thousand tetanus shots with its two-inch thorns, holding her inverted above ground in a tree far opposite of Loki's—but facing him. In fact, they were facing each other. Made to watch the other suffer. Made to watch the other _die. S_lowly, painfully.

_Intimately. In every way he knows I fear. _She let the thought trickle through her mind, and closed her eyes. _But I don't fear death. I fear..._

The snap of a tree branch against Loki's back caused her eyes to open, slightly. It was getting harder to stay conscious with all the blood rushing to her head, but she had been trained, carefully, to allow maximum resistance in any situation. She could hold out for a while longer. A _little_ while longer.

_This won't help our cause at all. We're already so beaten down. There's no chance we'll beat Thanos like this._ She had to figure out how to get out of this. She'd been in these kinds of scrapes before. Budapest, for example. And Russia, on multiple occasions. She'd been broken before. But her body was not so easily put out of commission. If she could just get _down_.

Despite that, she also knew she'd need to somehow free Loki or Thor. Despite her own formidable _skill set_, these were still mythical creatures with powers unlike any she'd faced (except _perhaps_ Loki himself). She may be able to take a few out with sheer physical strength, but if she let enough time elapse, the leader would capture her with his magic again.

_Elves, demons, demi-gods...Titans...why did I throw myself into this again? Maybe I was better off with amnesia...maybe I was better off _forgetting_..._

But as she looked across the clearing at Loki, so beaten, so destroyed, _unmoving _in fact, she realized she would never give up a moment of who she was just to forget all of the bad. There was too much good. And there could only be more good if she fought for it. If they all did.

Feeling the dizzy wooziness of unconsciousness beginning to overcome her again, she forced her mind to continue spinning off ideas and thoughts—memories even—to keep herself awake and conscious. She even began to regulate her breathing, allowing her to slow her heart rate considerably, and thus slow the pumping of blood through her body. It would buy her some time.

_Freeing Loki is too hard when he's that high up off the ground. But maybe I can free Thor. I have no idea where Mjolnir is though, but if I can get him loose, he can call it to him. _Sliding her half-lidded eyes from end of the clearing to the other, she noted Logan and Laura twisted in a sea of vines—stabbed by thorns and healing, perpetually, in an endless cycle. She wondered if their confinement was worse.

Fandral and Heimdall were bound to the trunk of the tree she hung from—pinned, actually—with the sharp spears the Elves had made of tree bark, stone, and the scrap metal from cars and buildings nearby. Their wounds bled, slowly. They were in the best shape of them.

_But they won't be strong enough. No, I need something that will strike many at once. Like lightning. _

Her mind was made up. She had to free Thor. Time to plan. Time to _act_.

Her eyes scanned the area again. They had taken all of the armor and weaponry. But she had a kind of ingenuity that could hardly be matched. Could only be match, in fact, by another of the Red Room, or perhaps Loki himself.

_Or perhaps another me._

It was then that something dawned on Natasha.

I _am my own worst enemy._

A small grin spread across her face, and she allowed blue eyes to drift over the crowd of Dark Elves. They were eating—tearing the meat off of some carcass they'd cooked, drowning their food in long gulps of dirty water. She almost felt sorry for them for how meager the kill was for so many of them, or how polluted the water seemed to be. It seemed Thanos' stunt with the Reality Gem had screwed even the worst of them.

When she noted Algrim was engrossed in his food—and the company of a lady—she bent her body, slightly, ignoring the strain in her rib and the way the broken halves moved against one another (causing deep pain), and broke one of the thorns off of the vine around her leg. Tucking it against her wrist (_ah, so that's where the break is_, she noted as the pain increased in with the movement), she turned her attention back to the Elves. She knew night would fall soon, and she _hoped_ the creatures weren't nocturnal. However, she also realized that because they had harbored prisoners, someone would probably stay up and stand watch.

But one, or even two, Elves were not so much trouble to dispatch. Keeping the thorn close to her arm, the dark color blending with her dark suit, she waited.

She'd get her opportunity, soon.

* * *

Thanos' ethereal blue eyes examined his fist, and the Infinity Gauntlet. He had been staring at it, contemplating the sudden change in the atmosphere of the world—of _her_ world. His lady Death. He could feel her anger—her disappointment. Sacrifices were getting harder to find. Laufeyson was saving them all.

Or he'd already killed them.

Of course, he had a healthy supply of them should he need them. That's why he'd stored them. To do his bidding—either for war, or for _her_. Perhaps he should give one up to her to show the pitiful Asgardian that his time was wasted in this foolish, heroic endeavor.

He wished he could just dispatch the little fool. But as he gazed at the Gauntlet, he also examined, carefully, the one Infinity Gem he still kept within the Gauntlet's slots. The Reality Gem.

The dull, lifeless Reality Gem. It sat, dead from the weight of the corruption he had performed on the Nine Realms, and though it vexed him that he could no longer use it for his bidding, he wore it in the slot on his knuckle, just over his ring finger, a symbol of his devotion to his Lady.

_I did this for you_, it said.

And since the gem was dead, it was useless keeping any of the other gems in the Gauntlet. It could never reach it's full potential now. It was a price heavily paid, but worthwhile, for _her_. Now, the other gems were scattered about the palace, placed in hiding so they could not be so easily stolen from him or put to _better_ uses.

He knew, though, that if he could extract just a little of the stupid little Asgardian queen's magic—a magic almost on par with that of the Allfather himself—he might be able to revive the Reality Gem. Might be able to revitilize it.

And then, _then_, it didn't matter if Laufeyson lived or died. Because he would bring _her_ into the world he'd created for her. He'd will the vessel he'd picked out back into his grasp—take her into his hands, and into his arms. Crush her under his power. _Break_ her. And then, he'd place his beautiful Lady within the broken body, and watch as her macabre elegance bloomed in the brokeness, bringing the body back to life with a dark malevolence.

_Soon, my love. Soon_.

* * *

Darkness fell with a beauty that Natasha had not seen in a long time. The stars twinkled up above, and the sky was painted a bluish black that Natasha had forgotten even existed. It was a alluring deception for all that was happening around her.

Tearing her eyes from the nostalgic sight, she watched as the last of the Elves disappeared into the brush for the night, leaving three guards standing watch of the prisoners. She noted a few things about the guards.

One: They were all of different heights and weights, which would be a necessary calculation to make to determine exactly how to take each one out.

Two: One was a female, and she didn't appear to get along well with her male compatriots, which Natasha could tell by the dirty looks she through them, and the way her hand kept moving toward her dagger and then away.

And three: One of the males had Loki's spear on his back—a spoil of battle, no doubt. She wondered how easy it would be to break that one's neck.

When she was sure the last of the Elves was sound asleep, and she found that none of the guards were looking directly at her, then she sprung into action. Twisting her body upward again, she began to saw at the vine with it's own thorn. Glancing down at the ground below, she calculated at exactly what angle she would need to land in order to minimize the pain to her wounded parts, and maximize her speed and agility when the inevitable attack from the guards commenced.

Letting her eyes scan the packed soil and greenery of the clearing, she nodded, and then, with a grin, she heard the satisfying snap of the vine giving way. Twisting her body, she landed, putting all of her weight on the balls of her feet, like a cat, so she could spring. The Elves twisted immediately and went to meet her attack, but she jumped and tumbled, swinging her legs around under the male without Loki's spear. He tripped over her legs, and as he hit the ground her leg came up and down back on his head, causing his nose to crunch against against the hard dirt, broken and bloody.

As the female grabbed her dagger and rushed her, Natasha somersaulted backward onto her feet, grit her teeth, and pushed her shoulder back into place as quickly as she could, knowing that she would need at least one hand for the rest of this fight. As the Elven female rushed her, dagger drawn, Natasha deflected her with an elbow to the back of the neck and swung her leg around, dropping the back of her ankle against the woman's temple and sending her flying, sideways, into a nearby tree. The dagger lay forgotten.

The last male circled her, picking up Loki's spear from his back. She could see the magic jumping up from his fingers, and she wondered why the first two hadn't resorted to that. But she circled him in return, tucking her broken wrist behind her back and pushing her _better_ arm in front of her in an offensive stance. Her eyes narrowed.

He rushed her. She rushed him in return, her mind filling with thoughts of little black dresses and the sardonic sound of her own voice asking if she was _pretty. _This was familiar. The Elf's magic course up through the runes on Loki's spear and shot out toward her, but she was able to deflect the orb easily. Another, and another deflection. As they hit her arm, they stung, slightly, but did barely any damage.

It was then she realized the runes were working _against_ the Elf's magic, and not toward it. Not like with Loki. Those runes were carved _especially_ for him. Taking advantage of this, she let the orbs hit her full force, rushing, until she was able to jump, wrap her legs around his neck and swing him to the ground full-force, with all the weight and power in her body.

However, he did not go down easily. He flipped her off of him where she had him pinned, twisting her body to the ground, and with all the force in his body, brought the blade of the spear down toward her. That is, until the runes glowed an eerie blue, unlike the dark magic that had just been coursing through them, and suddenly, the elf was thrown back by the magic, his body joining the females a few yards away, having been slammed, heavily, into a tree.

Natasha blinked, her brow furrowing, and then she heard a soft groan above her. Twisting her eyes upward, she smiled a little when she noticed the weary, red-eyed gaze of Loki staring back at her, his good arm outstretched a little, the very ends of his fingers sparking with blue power. He had very little magic left.

But he'd saved her, yet again.

"Thank you," she mouthed, and then stood, grabbing the spear that lay forgotten on the floor. It was only a matter of time before the rest returned. The commotion had not exactly been quiet. Using the adamantium blade, she sawed Thor free of his confines, and shook him. "Wake up," she hissed.

Thor groaned and his blue eyes opened, their cerulean color dulled with pain. "Lady...Natasha?"

"Thor," she said, holding her hand out to him. "Come on. You're free and I need your help."

She could hear it now—the sound of voices in the brush. They were moving closer.

"How did you manage-"

"Shh, it doesn't matter." She offered her hand again, and he took it. Using all of her strength, she pulled him up, ignoring the dull throb in her shoulder. "Can you call Mjolnir to you?"

"I believe so," he said, grabbing his side, where a particularly deeply embedded thorn had settled, breaking off of the vine when he stood.

"The rest of the Dark Elves are coming back," she murmured. "And I need you to light the bastards up. If you'll pardon my American." She smirked.

Understanding her cunning and nostalgic reference, he offered a small half-smile in return. "I shall most certainly try, my friend." Holding out his hand, he closed his eyes tightly, and called out to his hammer with his mind. A smile spread across his face when the hum of metal zipping through the air met his ears, and suddenly, the thick, leather handle of Mjolnir slammed into his fist.

Just in time. Algrim had returned, and so had the rest of the Elves.

Natasha turning, sliding into an offensive position next to Thor, and Algrim let out a barking laugh.

"Do you really think you can hold your own against me, woman? You are a mere mortal, and look how easily I broke your bones before," he replied. It was then he noticed Mjolnir in Thor's hand, and his eyes narrowed. Natasha deduced that Mjolnir had been Algrim's prize—brought to him by his loyal warrior kin.

"You will hand that hammer over to me, son of Odin."

"Come and claim it," Thor replied. "Or perhaps," He set it down, "you will try to lift it yourself."

Algrim growled, knowing he could not lift it before and would not be able to now, and as he went to break Natasha with his magic—a fitting punishment for both insubordinate Asgardians to see—Thor called it into his hand again, bringing down the lightning onto the Elf's arms, causing them to burn and blacken. He would no longer be able to call magic from it, for the time being.

"You will not _touch_ the future daughter of Odin," growled Thor. "Nor will you harm my sister in any way. Back away, Algrim. Call off your attack—call off your regime—and let us on our way."

And as Natasha pondered these words, her brow furrowed deeply, Algrim cradled his now damaged arm and seethed. "Why should we, Odinspawn?"

"Because, Algrim. I saw how your people were eating—how they were drinking. Thanos' rule has destroyed you and yours as much as any of the rest of us. You wish for it to end so that you may return things to the way they were—or some semblence of it."

"What has that to do with any of this, foolish AEsir?" Algrim hissed.

"That is where we venture now," Thor murmured. "To face Thanos. To stop him. For good."

"And why should we help you when your _brother_ ordered the destruction of our leader?" Algrim replied.

"Malekith," croaked Loki from his tree, and all eyes turned to him, "...was...prepared to sacrifice...all of his people...for just a taste..." He took a deep, shaking breath, "...of Thanos' power...I was saving...all of the Elves...not just...the Light..."

Algrim turned his gaze back to Thor. "Is this true?"

Natasha frowned, thoughtfully, and then nodded. "It makes sense. Loki could have asked the Light Elves to take you all out. Once Malekith was gone, it would have been easy for them, I bet. But he didn't. He spared the rest of you."

Thor nodded. "There. You see now that we are, for once, on equal sides. Please. Let us finish our journey, that we may rebuild the fractured pieces of Yggdrasil."

Algrim was still seething, thinking, contemplating how this situation could take a turn for the worst, but found no fault in the words or actions of any of them. Finally, he let out an exasperated sigh and turned to his second-in-command, who immediately released the binds on all the rest of the group.

It happened in a flash. Loki fell like a stone, and Thor was there to catch him. Immediately.

"Brother," Thor said, softly.

Loki did not reply, but his eyes opened, half-way, and he smiled, weakly.

"He needs help," Natasha murmured. "He can't continue like that. He won't survive past the front gates."

"Hn," Algrim harrumphed and then snapped his fingers. Three or four Elven women appeared. "We are masters of dark magic, mortal woman. But we also know the art of healing spells. We must also care for our wounded after battle."

"Are you suggesting-" Natasha began.

"Well, silly wench," the Elf huffed, "if we are to be tentative allies, I suppose it is the least we can do."

"The least?" Natasha snorted, placing her hands on her hips. _That's an understatement._

* * *

Two hours later, the bulk of their injuries had been healed and Loki sat under the shade of a tree—the tree previously used as his prison—his eyes moving in swift examination over the pale pink flesh of his AEsir form. He flexed his fingers, opening and closing them, assuring himself that everything was still in working order despite the stress his body had been through in the last few hours. Furrowing his brow, he concentrated his energy, and willed a tiny ball of blue magic to spring forth in his hand.

"Loki."

His green eyes twisted around to face the voice's owner as he closed his hand around the magic, diminishing its glittering light.

Natasha smiled, carefully, at him, sitting down in the grass next to him. She propped her knee up, settling an elbow on it, her other leg outspread in front of her. Her suit was a little worse for wear, but all of her limbs and bones were healed—as well as the hand-print shaped burn she'd acquired in Surtur's territory.

"Are you well?" the young Asgardian prince asked, shifting his eyes to glance at her.

"I could ask you the same thing," she replied, reaching out, her fingers brushing over the paleness of humanoid flesh. "Loki, I've never seen you fully Jotun before today..."

"Did I frighten you?" he asked, unable to meet her gaze.

"Yes."

Loki's eyes fell closed, willing himself to conceal on his face the sudden, throbbing pain he felt in his heart. _Father was right. I _am_ the monster people tell their children about at night._

"You scared the hell out of me."

_Stop it, Natasha, please. I can bear no more._

"I thought I was going to lose you."

Loki's eyes shot open and he turned his head to gaze at her in shock. "What?" His brow furrowed.

Natasha let out a small chuckle. "That was the same face you had when I first tricked you."

"You did _not_ trick me. No one tricks me. I am the_ Trickster_ god, and I—wait, do not change the subject! What did you say? You weren't afraid of my appearance? Put-off? Disgusted?"

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him. "Really? I fought Chitauri hoards—I commanded Chitauri hoards. I spent time in a Jotun prison. I just got tortured by a bunch of weird, pale-faced Elves...and you think your Jotun form would be _off-putting _to me? Come on, I've seen worse. Way worse. Like-"

"Budapest?" Loki asked, smirking. "I've heard."

"Damn, you got that out of Barton, too?"

Loki offered a half-hearted chuckle. "Yes." A dark, sadness fell over his face. "I am sorry for that. For...everything. I'm not certain if I ever apologized for all the pain I caused. The suffering."

"Loki, don't-"

"No," he interrupted. "You deserve it. Also," A pause, "I am sorry for the _quim_ gibe. You are far more than that, and when Heimdall informed my mother I had used such language on a lady, believe me, she was not pleased. _You're a prince of Asgard_, she said, _and you were raised with better manners than that_!"

He laughed, but it trailed off, as he thought of his mother—and Thanos. Letting out a long, shaking sigh, he leaned back against the massive trunk of the tree and closed his eyes. "This is not over yet."

"I know."

"Algrim's alliance with us is tentative."

"No kidding."

"We must finish this swiftly."

"Then, we will," she said. "_I_ will."

A shadow ghosted over Loki's face, before he glanced at her and offered her a reluctant smile. Reaching out, he took her hand and squeezed, but said nothing.

Finally, after a moment of gentle silence, Natasha turned to face him, a curious look on her face. "Loki," she murmured, tracing the lines of his palm with her index finger.

"Hm?"

"Why did Thor call me a..._future_ daughter of Odin?" she asked, smirking a little to herself. She was baiting him. The answer was obvious. But she wondered if the Silvertongued Trickster would be able to garner enough courage to speak it out himself.

Loki's eyes widened, and a deep blush painted his pale face. "I...He...You see, it was..."

_Silver tongue turn to lead? _Volstagg's voice grated on his mind, and he clenched his jaw, tightly. "You..."

"He also called me his sister," Natasha added, her smirk widening into a grin.

"You see...the...that is..."

"Loki."

"Yes, dear?" He looked like a deer in headlights as he turned to look at her—Natasha chuckled inwardly at the comparison. She knew Tony would appreciate it—and she met his gaze.

"I accept."

"What?"

"Your proposal, you idiot. I accept."

"How did you—_oh_, nevermind!" Loki finally sighed, exasperation painting his face, his free hand moving to massage his forehead. "I suppose it was only obvious, thanks to my brutish brother who knows not how to keep a secret."

Natasha laughed a little. "No. I'm glad. That way I have something to look forward to..."

His eyes met hers again and he furrowed his brow, the glean in the green irises one of questioning.

Her smile faltered a little as she continued to trace her finger over the deep lines of his palm, before moving into the strokes of his Jotun runes on each hand and arm, remembering what they looked like. She noted that the arm she touched was his wounded arm—and that a small blue spot of blackened Jotun flesh still lingered. A substantial wound that not even the Elves magic could fully heal, it appeared.

"It gives me something to live for," she said, finally, caressing her fingers gently over the wound, before leaning in to brush her lips over it, softly, careful not to linger on the Jotun colored flesh too long.

Loki's brow slammed down with furrowed determination, and, firmly, he stated, "You _will_ live."

Natasha's smile wavered again, the corners of her lips twitching with a nervous sadness despite the expression, but she allowed herself a nod. She _would_ live. She would do everything in her power to keep Thanos and his Lady at bay until she could get the rest of them in. She would prevail.

She would _marry_ _Loki_. She would finally have the happiness that her childhood and her job had stripped her of early on.

"Guess you don't have a ring for me, huh?" she teased, flicking the back of his hand, softly. "Pretty weak proposal if you ask me."

Loki reached up, smiling a little, and tweaked the band that held her hair in place, even now, after all they'd been through. "My mother gave this to me."

"I remember. It was a gift from your father."

"Yes. To suggest their love and willingness to be parents to me. To a monster."

"Not a monster. Not anymore than I am."

Loki chuckled. "Very well. In any case...it is a gift worth giving to the woman one loves...to signify something important. An Asgardian treasure, with special...sentiment."

"Sentiment? You?"

"People change," he whispered. "I would be honored if you would accept it as a token of our engagement—in lieu of a ring."

Natasha tapped a finger to her chin, her lips quirking to the side in a thoughtful expression—feaux thoughtfulness, in any case. Finally, she grinned, and replied, "All that unnecessary explanation. I knew what you were playing toward. And I most definitely accept."

"Well, good," Loki replied, grinning in return.

"Does that mean I'll never get a ring?"

"_Natasha._"

"Kidding!"

They laughed, together. A sound she had never really heard—a sound of union, a sound of a bond. A sound of pure, unadulterated love.

It was like the softness of music just before its crescendo. It was like the quiet stillness of a child before they wake from a nightmare.

She knew...

It was the stillness of calm just before the storm.

* * *

"And now abide faith, hope and love, these three: but the greatest of these is love." 1 Corinthians 13:13

_Please_ review.


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